What Never Was
by Laeka
Summary: What never was and never will be. This approach was abandoned a good deal of time ago. The first two chapters are set in a parallel universe but the last two were written to conform to canon. This was just an experiment.
1. A Lack of Information Forces Imagination

**Prologue: **

**Without Warning or Reason… Treason:**

"Mmmmm," Daniel hummed as he leaned over the back of the couch, kissing his wife's feathery fine cheek and lightly nibbling on her earlobe before pulling away.

Simonetta smiled and blushed at the intimate contact her husband had initiated. Even here, in the worst of times he could still be the man she had fallen in love with… and not be frightened into submission.

"Is he asleep?" he questioned with a husky tone into his wife's ear.

"Has been for some time," Simonetta answered, looking at the beautiful baby boy asleep in her arms.

"Let's put him in his crib and then go make sure he has a brother to play with," Daniel whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife in both a protecting and loving embrace.

"Naughty!" Simonetta quietly exclaimed, but blushing happily nonetheless.

"Come on, it's late anyway, he should be in bed," Daniel said, not letting go of Simonetta.

Simonetta proudly smiled at their son, "Let's go, time to put you to bed young man."

The baby in her arms didn't stir or make the slightest sound as he was carried carefully up the stairs flanked by the two people in the world who loved him more than anything else. Already appearing to be a replica of his father, William Daniel Penn had the trademark Penn man hair that refused to be tamed and that cheeky grin that made those around him worry that he was plotting something- his father could not have been more proud of his son, and his mother was only too happy to have a family of her own.

Daniel and Simonetta stood before William's crib and held each other while they watched him sleep, each thinking that the worst would not happen, that they would make sure the worst did not happen.

Simonetta leaned back into her husband, and Daniel responded by embracing his wife from behind, wrapping his arms lovingly around her waist. Daniel placed his head in the crook of her neck just to be cheek to cheek with the woman he loved.

"C'mon love, let's go back down by the fire," Simonetta whispered.

Daniel allowed Simonetta to extricate herself from his arms, but she took his hand and led him back to the living room where they sat on fur rug in front of the fire. He found himself smiling while he questioned on the way down the stairs how Simonetta could constantly disappoint him in jest only to make his spirit soar the very next moment; just trying to figure her out completely was going to make an excellent adventure for him to put in his personal copy of 'Getting Away… the Marauder's Guide to Life'.

Daniel was brought out of his happy musings by the one look he had hated since he had first seen it dawn on Simonetta's face, the look in Simonetta's eyes that he could see now. She was worried, scared, and she was not the only one… and yet there was nothing that he could do but to offer soothing words and a pair of arms to wrap around her. His personal fear for the entirety of the situation he and Simonetta found themselves in, well, he would swallow it down with the very same pride he had had to let go when the decision was made to go into hiding.

"Nothing is going to happen," Daniel soothed, taking Simonetta's hand in his own and pulling her closer to him.

"I hope you're right," was all that she said in reply, focusing on the fire rather than him.

"I know I'm right," Daniel quickly countered and he could feel Simonetta relax against him and her body shifting to face him.

"I love you," she whispered, biting her bottom lip and driving him insane with the tenderness she expressed.

Daniel hands came up to cup his wife's face between them, and the feel of her gently flesh against his calloused palms was enough of a sensation to send a welcome shudder throughout his being.

"More than anything else in this world, Simonetta Penn… I love you," Daniel softly declared and claimed Simonetta's lips with his own.

Simonetta pulled away, giving him an elvish glance, "How can you say you love me more than your son?"

Daniel grinned, making Simonetta's mien turn to one of confusion, "You have certain _assets _which William does not possess."

Daniel head cocked to the side and he appeared to be appraising his wife's feminine attributes, smiling devilishly the entire time his eyes traced her body.

Simonetta gave Daniel a feral smile, "You _are_ randy this evening."

"Too bad you married me, and now you're stuck with me for eternity!" Daniel exclaimed, as if he had just declared victory.

"Uh-huh," Simonetta replied scooting a few paces away from him.

Daniel instantly looked defeated and cowed by her distance. "Okay, so you're in charge."

Simonetta grinned her victory instead of stating it aloud; it was better that way, and Daniel's mocking scowl only made it all the sweeter a victory.

"Oh, no, you don't win that easily, Mrs. Penn," Daniel stated and lunged at his wife. His fingers instantly went for her sides and ribs, which he knew to be incredibly ticklish.

"NO! STOP!" Simonetta screamed in delight as Daniel ferociously and relentlessly tickled her into submission. "YOU'LL WAKE WILLIAM!"

Daniel continued despite what she had said, "Not bloody likely. I put a silencing charm on his door, and if anyone wakes William," Daniel stopped for a second to look at his wife pinned beneath him, with her flaming red hair tossed all over the floor and smiling up at him, "it will be you!"

Simonetta began laughing again and tried to push Daniel off as he launched into another raid of tickling her and moved his way down her legs intent on getting to the most ticklish part of her body… her feet. There was only one thing she knew that would stop him, so she decided to win this game as well, "Daniel."

Daniel stopped with her sock in-between his teeth while he held her legs from kicking him with both arms wrapped around them, "Mmm?"

"Well, I was going to ask you to kiss me, but that's just disgusting," Simonetta giggled.

Daniel spit-out the sock and reversed direction until he was lying next to his wife and kissing her like the life of the world depended on their passion.

Daniel broke away to take a breath and stared lovingly at his wife, and he swore that his heart was swelling double its size when he saw that very look reciprocated. One of his hands reached up to her face brushing away strands of wayward hair.

"I really love you, you know?" Daniel declared and asked in a quiet confident manner.

Simonetta smiled with victory, again. "I know."

Simonetta threw her arms around Daniel and rolled on top of him, initiating things this time. When she started kissing his neck and eliciting groans from him he asked throatily, "How is it that you always win?"

Simonetta backed away from his neck, proud that there was a love bite forming there already, one she knew he would display proudly to Sirius. Another sign that marriage was not some horrible punishment and that he should marry Allison already and get it over with. "What? You mean the great and savvy Daniel Penn hasn't figured it out yet?"

Daniel hooked his right leg behind Simonetta's and rolled them over until he was on top this time, surprising her, "Pray tell, good woman."

Simonetta snorted at his words, "Honestly! You're _my_ husband, and as the wife my duty and privilege is to win everything."

Daniel was scandalized, "Everything?"

Simonetta almost flat out lost it laughing when he gulped as he anticipated her answer, "Everything."

Then she did burst out laughing while Daniel remained atop her, and she held him in place with her legs.

"Oooooh, you!" Daniel roared playfully, knowing that he was being had.

"You know you love being teased," Simonetta pointed out and bit her lip again.

"Sometimes I think that you're going to kill me with that smile," Daniel warned before dipping his head to kiss her.

"Is it possible to kill someone with love?" Simonetta asked with her eyes closed in enjoyment at feeling the love radiating off of her husband.

Daniel smiled charmingly, "Expect to be destroyed."

"Oh, Mr. Penn!" Simonetta retorted. "Were you serious about having another child?"

Daniel looked into Simonetta's eyes for a second before answering, "Yes."

"Boy or girl?" Simonetta asked.

"Simonetta?" Daniel inquired, ceasing his pursuit of his wife's right ear.

"Yes?" Simonetta asked, wondering why on Earth he had stopped.

"Shut-up, will you?" Daniel smirked, earning a swat on the chest that became a grip by the robe collar pulling him down to her.

Daniel had finally managed to get Simonetta's sweater off, but the buttoned up shirt she wore beneath was giving him some difficulty- he had never had any luck with buttons. Simonetta was quite enjoying watching him struggle with the buttons and was only waiting a few minutes longer for him to surrender and ask for 'assistance'.

Out of nowhere there was a loud and rushed knocking at the front door and Daniel inwardly groaned, forgetting why they were at the safe house for a moment. Then, just as soon his right mind returned to him in seconds he was off of Simonetta with his side-arm at the ready. Simonetta had rolled to the left and up onto her knees and then feet, pulling her own weapon out of the waistband of her tights in the process of getting to her feet and aiming it directly at the door.

Daniel stood before the door and quietly called for the person to make their identity known.

The door to safe house muffled the answer but the answer was clear enough for them to hear the voice of their friend, Pietr.

Daniel rushed to the door yanked it open and pulled Pietr in. He closed and sealed the door almost before Pietr was completely inside.

"Pietr, what's wrong, what are you doing here?" Daniel hurriedly asked, glad to have received a friend rather than foe.

Simonetta visibly relaxed and Daniel threw an arm around his friend, "You couldn't have come at worse time mate."

Pietr started to cry, "Daniel… I… I'm so..."

Daniel didn't allow him the time to finish, "Simonetta, will you make sure William's alright."

Simonetta had already given in to her maternal instincts and left before having been asked.

"Pietr, what did you do!?" Daniel demanded thrusting the smaller man against nearest wall. "Tell me!"

"I was just supposed to… but he… and, oh Daniel, I'm so sorry…" Pietr sniffed.

"Pietr?" Daniel asked, gripping Pietr by his lapels and pinning him deeper into the wall, while turning deathly pale at the same time with the implications of what Pietr had the power to do running through his mind.

"He's on his way, Daniel," Pietr started and Daniel let him go to fall to his knees.

Daniel kicked Pietr across the face with the toe of his boot, knocking the man out and sending several of his teeth skittering across the shining hard wood floor of the cottage. Simonetta came down the stairs holding a calm William in her arm just as Daniel turned to look away from Pietr and at her and his child.

"Simonetta, it's him, take William and go… I'll hold him off!" Daniel ordered, thinking there were so many other things he wanted to say before he yelled for her to leave.

"Daniel!" Simonetta screamed when the power to the cottage cut off, and William turned to look at what all the commotion was about.

"I love you," Daniel whispered and turned his back on his wife in order to face what he knew to be certain death. The door was casually opened with no power available to supply the powerful locking mechanism.

Simonetta didn't say another word and went to the port where she stood inside with William and called out, "Central Station!"

Nothing happened and she looked to Daniel in horror.

"Go! Just run!" Daniel pleaded, hoping she would just make a run for it until she was past the property boundaries and risk waving down a random motorist.

Simonetta ran from the port and disappeared upstairs with William in her arms despite Daniel's pleas. There would be no possible avenue of escape by foot if Rieghard was already within the boundaries with his many followers, and he was after William only... he would ignore Daniel altogether to get to her child. No, there was only one way to insure that her baby survived this night.

Simonetta hastily wrote out a message and sent it away on her portable thankful that the device still had a signal. She sat William in his crib and began her manipulations on this rooms independent security system.

Downstairs, Daniel stood before the largest menace to his world since the last genocidal maniac had been put down by his own grandfather and defiantly faced the monster.

With more courage than he thought he possessed, Daniel raised his wand with an aim directly at Rieghard's heart.

"Good-evening, Daniel," Rieghard hissed evenly. His eyes never left the foolish man before him yet they surreptitiously swept over the room searching for the boy.

Daniel did not return the greeting and did not move from his position.

"No pleasantries then? No brave remarks that you and your accomplice are so fond of?" Rieghard subtly inquired successfully reading his opponents mind.

"I wouldn't want to be predictable," Daniel replied, surprised that his voice did not quaver.

"DIE!" Daniel bellowed, hoping to catch Rieghard off guard as he fired where the demon was standing, only to have it miss completely and Rieghard standing inches away from where the bullets passed him by.

Rieghard raised his finger and shook it back and forth mockingly, "Tsk tsk, I was expecting so much better."

Daniel barely saw the movement of Rieghard's hands before he dove over the back of the couch and out of the way of the blade leveled against him. He was got up quickly and balanced himself on the balls of his feet trying to give his wife and son enough time to escape.

"Very nimble," Rieghard appraised and brought his long with hands together and clapped.

Daniel watched Rieghard tighten his grasp on the rappier to train it on his chest once more. He knew he could not keep dodging, but he was never going to surrender to whatever this thing was that stood before him.

"What did you do to Pietr?" Daniel asked, circling to keep Rieghard away from the stairs and stalling for time.

Rieghard laughed as well as he could for all the changes he had made to his human physiology, "I am curious myself to ask you that very same question… he was the one who came to me."

The color that had returned to Daniel face when he started to duel drained once more from his face. How had Pietr felt betrayed by him? What happened between Pietr, Samuel, Ryan and himself to drive him to this? This had to be another of Rieghard's tricks, another ploy to turn them against each other.

Daniel tried to circle about to the stairs but found his opponent very aware of his plan and Rieghard patiently standing before him.

"Liar," Daniel seethed, the thought of any of his friends turning against another made him sick to his stomach. He knew there had been a traitor within the Order, but his friends would never do that to each other, they were not traitors.

Rieghard grew tired of this game and sneered, "Believe what you will, now stand aside. I have a prophecy to see to."

His blade moved faster than Daniel had time to react for and the killing blow ran him through.

Daniel Penn fell to the ground with the sword of Rieghard impaled through his heart.

Simonetta heard the muttered conversation from upstairs, and prayed to the gods that Daniel had somehow defied the fates and done what was said only their son could do. She knew there would be no escape for her either should Daniel not be able to defy Rieghard. Her reanimation of the nursery's defense system had effectively sealed her and her baby in the room. Simonetta wondered how quickly Rieghard would be repelled once she was gone.

She stood at the door to William's nursery, prepared for what was going to happen. There was one thing that was certain in her mind, that monster would... not... take... her child.

The door to William's nursery was reduced to smoldering ashes at the feet of Simonetta Penn without even the slightest word having been spoken. There had been rumors as to the achievements of Rieghard but this defied explanation.

The snake-like visage of Thomas Rieghard smirking made Simonetta sick to her stomach, and yet she stood prepared to fight the thing she knew just killed her husband. She didn't dare look away in disgust as she had the last time she had faced him.

"Stand aside you silly girl!" Rieghard commanded when he saw the woman standing between him and the last obstacle keeping him from immortality.

"Take me instead," Simonetta offered, thinking quickly to ensure she was dispatched before he laid a hand on William.

"Move," Rieghard demanded with a hiss and stepped forward into the nursery. Simonetta backed up, keeping herself between William and Rieghard.

"Please," she pleaded, feigning desperation to buy his attention. "Not William, take me... take me instead… KILL ME!"

Rieghard backhanded Simonetta Penn across the face and sent her crumpling to the floor as if she was nothing. He looked down upon her form, taking in her broken nose and blood trickling from the corner of her bruised mouth.

"Will…William," Simonetta sputtered and pulled herself up off the floor to stand between the monster and her son for the last time.

Rieghard locked eyes with the annoying woman and only then did she fall dead at his feet.

Simonetta Penn died silently screaming her son's name with her crumpled form landing at the base of her baby's crib.

Rieghard towered over the crib in which the child of Daniel and Simonetta Penn stared wide-eyed up at the epitome of evil. William had yet to make a sound, and the fact that he had no comprehension of what was happening around him only increased the pleasure Rieghard was feeling at this moment.

Glowering at the child he pulled a ceremonial blade from his waist.

When the room recognized the presence of substantial threat to the target it was designed to protect, and the absence of its programmer, the defenses made available for such a scenario activated.


	2. Another Day

**WELL HERE'S YOUR ANSWER, IN SPADES:**

At the entrance to her nephew's room, Rose McGiese stood with her arms crossed over her chest. She had come upstairs at the request of her husband Johnathon, as he had absolutely no inclination to have anything remotely to do with his wife's relative. The warning he had received at the terminal had been continually replaying itself in Johnathon's memory and he had no want for those people to show up on his doorstep and sully his reputation... so, he sent his wife.

The faint light given off by the single candle William had lit was the sole reason she had stayed after ensuring he had set his things inside his room properly. He was just sitting at the rickety desk they had put in here when they bought David his latest.

Rose re-crossed her arms after letting them go slack at her sides when she saw the boy was in his room. This was done in an effort to halt the tirade she was about to unleash upon her nephew for lighting a candle when he knew all too well that he could do something beyond his control and burn their home to ashes. She was doubly halted when the faint light given off by the candle allowed her to see the outline of a scar, which William endlessly traced.

"I wish this was someone else's…" Rose overhead William whispering.

William sat at his desk staring out into the darkness of the night, all the while absentmindedly rubbing the scar on the back of his right hand. He did not notice his thumb was constantly tracing the words, but he could hear the constrained breathing of his aunt standing at the threshold to her home's smallest bedroom.

He could have cared less though that his aunt stood behind him, watching him for whatever reason she had devised. His mind was consumed with thoughts of his involvement in Samuel' death, having almost led his friends and subsequently other order members to death as well, Jacques's death… his parents' deaths. His memory kept replaying his possession, his sincere hope and desire that Professor Mason would kill him and Rieghard at the same time… putting an end to all of the madness surrounding him. Though he knew now, nothing could have been done on Professor Mason's part; so William sat there questioning his own resolve.

He brought his hands to his face and removed his glasses, setting them down on the desktop and rubbing his eyes in an effort to make his tear ducts work and lubricate his eyes. There wasn't a care within him to look around the bedroom, as he knew he'd only find reminders of a life he currently could no longer fathom. His life was belying his age.

His trunk still had not been unpacked and sat on his bed, acting more as a reminder of his life's story than the basic travel case it was; battered, torn in places, frayed leather straps holding it together, the embossed W.P. initials were starting to rub off and the golden clasps were now tarnished and chipped. William saw no problem symbolically equating his life to his trunk. He kept his eyes closed and as far from the confines as possible.

Rose opened her mouth and drew in an audible breath preparing to speak to her nephew when he cut her off.

"Please leave," William requested, re-opening his eyes and speaking very softly.

Almost as quick as her lips parted she pursed them together and turned on her heel to leave the boy to himself. The warning her husband seemed so worried about was finally starting to sink into her as well.

William sighed lightly as he listened to his aunt's footsteps move away and descend the stairs. He could also hear his uncle's gruff voice as his aunt entered the living room when he spouted off, "Well?"

'_Typical,'_ William thought with disgust.

Two minutes later, after scanning the night sky again and the streets for any sign of activity, the order or otherwise, he turned on his computer.

Opening his e-mail he found one message of importance highlighted and waiting impatiently as it blinked.

After reading who had sent the message he unceremoniously deleted it. He didn't give a damn what the Minister had to say to him. Whether the man was making him out to be the crazed attention seeking lunatic, or the famous hero, he couldn't bring himself to care. The obstinate fool had caused more damage than even William had caused, and the man was far better informed of the goings on in their world; no, not like William who was either ignored or treated so much like a mushroom.

William pushed back from the desk and grabbed his glasses, putting them squarely on his face and stood up. He went to the door of the bedroom he was boarding and silently closed it, holding the knob turned so there would be no sound of the clasp catching.

Turning from the door his eyes finally took in the sight of where he was, and his trunk. The light of the candle cast an eerie glow about the room, draping shadows everywhere he surveyed.

The bed was still small and hard, a door was still hanging loose to his cupboard and the walls that made up his cell were bare and cold to look at. Nothing in this room gave the impression of belonging to the home downstairs and sibling bedrooms down the hall. Not a single, solitary thing which William touched in someway was still pure and untainted... this bedroom, the cupboard downstairs, the order, his friends… his school even.

Though, as he stood in front of the desk with his hands gripping the top of the chair and staring out into the darkness of space once more an epiphany struck him. There was only one-way to make everything right, to make everything the way it should be, for that was the mindset of William. He was still a boy, however much disputed that might be with as much life experience he'd earned in his few years. He was still a boy with the notion that everything could be set to rights and put to order… ignorance that would take a reckoning to correct.

His epiphany was that of the, 'power he knew not'. That was what he needed. He wanted to put the wrongs to right and he needed that power to succeed in that quest. He wondered if Professor Mason already had an idea of what this power could be, and if he would share any knowledge of his discoveries. Surely after hearing the prophecy he could not have sat on his hands and not looked into possibilities.

"Professor Mason," William lamented aloud, "do you have any faith in me?"

A small voice in the back of William's mind instantly answered the question for him, confirming that his headmaster indeed had faith in him. Otherwise he still would have been in the dark, right? But before he let the affirmation of Professor Mason's faith sink in, another voice, slightly louder than the first asked why he was once again in an unwelcome environment. If Professor Mason had faith in him, why wouldn't he be training right now to find the power Rieghard believed in but did not know about, training to put an end to the suffering of all the innocent muggles and people Rieghard and his cult targeted? Why was he still here, when he was the one that was supposed to put a stop to all of the insanity?

Without realizing what he was doing, William gripped the chair he was holding on to even tighter and picked it up from the ground, swinging it once about the room and tossing it out the open window.

Realization hit William as he watched in horror while the chair succumbed to gravity and plummeted straight into the front windshield of the Dursley's newest motor. The front two legs on the rickety chair were imbedded halfway through the glass of the windshield and the impact had sent a shockwave through the rest of the safety glass causing it to splinter like some nightmarish spider web. The vehicles security system immediately rang out alerting the neighborhood to the assault.

Isabella Fitt was watching from her post at the window across the street from the McGiese home. The order had recently purchased the lease on the home for a quick base of operations. From her post she watched young William Penn throw a chair from his window, which landed rather fortunately on the Dursley's newest motor, smashing the windshield. Then, to her surprise, William launched his school trunk as well, damaging the hood of the car this time. In quick succession he followed his belongings by jumping from the windowsill to the tree, shimmied down, grasped the handle of his trunk and trekked off down the street. Isabella immediately stood from her rocker, nimbly avoided the myriad of felines around her feet and quickly dialed Adam who was still likely to be holding session with the order.

William continued down the walkway of his old street, away from the McGiese's, wondering where he could go. Part of him wanted to go back and face his uncle, to see the rage in his face boil over and physically manifest in a ham like fist sailing through the air, aimed for him. He reasoned that was the same part of him that questioned Professor Mason's faith and closed off that part of his mind, unsure if that voice really belonged to him or was some derivation of Rieghard's paranormal attacks.

Mrs. Fitt's was only a couple of streets away, but she was an order member and the moment he stepped foot inside her home more member's would appear and have him escorted back, despite any protests William might mount.

Professor Mason had told him why he had to go back to the McGiese home, and William could not bring himself to contact his headmaster to argue the wiser man's logic and argue against being there.

Knowing that he had no other viable options, William continued on until he found a bus stop. Luckily, for a change he noted, a bus was quick to appear. He boarded quickly after paying with the last of the change he carried in his pockets.

William's memory suddenly took him back to the first time he had ridden the bus alone, and seen Samuel watching over him without having ever approached. His eyes watered, and he was saved from himself when the driver lurched the behemoth into motion.

William took a seat on the empty bench towards the front of the bus and picked up somebody's discarded newspaper.

"Where you headed at this hour, young man?" The driver asked, looking into his overhead mirror to see his only passenger.

"The city," Will answered vaguely before devoting his attention once more to the periodical.

Sometimes he couldn't believe the general public's willingness to discount the happenings of Rieghard as generic terrorism.

Several stops, and a few passengers later, William was shaken from his meager slumber by the halt of the bus informing him that they had arrived at his stop. William nodded and gave a smile in thanks, waving off the driver as he went for the trunk and grabbed it himself and stepped off the bus.

William entered the nearest hotel to the sound of insanely loud screeching tires speeding down the carriageway and a quickly following constable giving chase. He was surprised that the lobby wasn't as busy as he assumed it would be from all the films he'd seen that showed the nightlife of metropolitan hotels.

Lugging his trunk behind him, William maneuvered his way through the maze of furniture to the front desk.

The young woman behind the desk greeted him coolly and efficiently, though, not bothering to inquire about his age or how he'd be able to afford accommodations.

"Mr. Penn," she acknowledged whilst handing over his room keys and information.

William looked confused for a moment, before understanding the look in her eyes and was grateful to note she must have had experience with young charges renting rooms here.

His journey to the lift and up several floors was a quick one. Much quicker than he expected he stood before his room fumbling with the plastic card-key.

William inserted the key into the lock of the door wondering how the mechanism worked. He pushed the door open with his left hand while dragging his trunk in with his right. When he turned to view the room he had signed for he found himself eye to eye with Professor Mason, who as always sat with his legs crossed formally and his fingers tented.

"Professor," William nodded, pleased that he had not stuttered aloud as he had in his mind when he first saw him sitting there.

Now he wasn't so confused as to why the woman at the front desk was so compliant.

"William." Professor Mason nodded as well, his crystalline blue eyes twinkling ceaselessly.

It appeared to William when Professor Mason lowered his hands to the arms of the chair he was sitting in that he was about to speak and William took his chance at the given opportunity, "I'm not going back to the McGiese's."

Professor Mason remained silent, but no longer looked as weak and tired as William remembered from the morning after at the ministry. Color had returned to his skin, and he appeared to be as powerful as everyone speculated he was.

William let his trunk fall to the floor whilst adopting a defiant preparation, "You can't make me!"

Remaining seated with an impassive mien, Professor Mason continued to let William control the situation. His palms turned upward in an inviting motion for William to do what he wanted. He did note that William had placed himself into a perfect Dacian dueling stance, something that he had yet to be taught.

William was about to lower his guard and go to Professor Mason and collapse before him, asking for forgiveness when he was suddenly attacked by a 'confundous' charm and hung upside down suspended in mid-air. The person William had believed to be Professor Mason suddenly let their façade fade and morphed into the perfect visage of Rieghard.

"Penn," Rieghard hissed sadistically.

William's eyes went wide when he was raised high enough in the air to be eye to eye with Rieghard.

"MURDERER!" William roared and spit in Rieghard's left eye.

Rieghard made no motion to remove the spittle dripping down his chin, instead, he only smiled vindictively, "Mmmmm… yes."

A cold bony hand was so close to William's right cheek that he was afraid the blinding pain that came when Rieghard touched him was not far off. William squeezed his eyes shut as tight as possible and tried to focus on how to get out of this.

His eyes were forced open, giving him no other option but to watch as a wand appeared in Rieghard's hand.

There was a passel of words William could not understand strung together while Rieghard performed motions and then pointed the tip directly at William. William tried in vain to close his eyes and wish he was somewhere else, but the voice of Rieghard spoke inside his head, "You will escape very little today, Penn."

Flashes of Hermione, Ron, Professor Lupin, Samuel, Professor Mason, Professor McGonagall, his mother, his father, the Weasley's all came into his mind and suddenly he found himself free of what bound him and on the floor on bended knee.

"So… you _will _make this interesting?" Rieghard mocked.

William stood and picked his wand up off the floor where it had been dropped. He was confused that Rieghard had not snapped it when he was given the chance.

William's eyes burned an iridescent green that he was unaware of and his expression went stoic as he raised his wand and whispered, "Murderer."

Rieghard only continued to smile, and nodded with grace at the title he was given.

William didn't even say a word, his wand simply erupted at the tip and a bright white light shot out at Rieghard who disappeared.

The pub and hotel was still shaking when the light disappeared and the wall that had been behind Rieghard was gone. William lowered his wand and sank to his knees, unsure of what had just happened and who was just in his room... and why every bone in his body burned.

Abruptly a hand gripped his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his neck. Another hand gripped his naked neck and pulled him off the floor with amazing ease and held him at arms length. William found himself eye to eye again with Rieghard and struggling for breath and his hands went to Rieghard's involuntarily.

"The prophecy," Rieghard demanded as William started to turn blue, "if you would be so kind."

William's eyes set again with thoughts of what would happen if he did die and Rieghard won. His right hand abandoned the struggle to release his throat from the death grip and formed into a fist, smashing squarely into Rieghard's face… completely un-fazing him.

Again William struck Rieghard, not caring that he couldn't breath and spots were forming in front of his eyes. He continued to smash his fist into Rieghard's head to no avail and breaking his knuckles in the process.

Rieghard dropped William to ground without ceremony and pushed William onto his hands with the toe of his right boot.

William lay there gasping for breath, starting to see clearly just before the red eyes he had been staring at for the past twenty minutes appeared back in his line of sight and a wand was pointed directly at the scar on his forehead. All he heard was 'legilimens' before everything went black and the voice of Rieghard Rieghard Jr. continued to probe him for the prophecy.

"YOU WANT IT! YOU SODDING BASTARD THEN COME AND TAKE IT AND STOP YOUR GAMES!" William roared.

Rieghard instantly appeared before William without a sound and spoke softly, almost tenderly, "very well."

Rieghard's own fist collided with William's left cheek with such force that he was sent flying across the vast void of his mind.

Again Rieghard appeared before William, but before he landed and he was summoned by his shirt into Rieghard's grasp only to be flung across the void once more.

William crashed into some sort of a wall that fractured from his impact point in all directions and embedded him there. He spit out the blood that had forced its way out of him, which landed at the feet of Rieghard.

Rieghard's left hand was around William's throat once more but the smile was gone, replaced by a ferocious teeth-baring countenance, "The prophecy, NOW!"

Through the broken jaw and against the constricting grip on his windpipe William crowed a guttural scream that forced Rieghard to release him and banished him to the opposite side of the void.

William fell out of the wall he was embedded in with a thump and lifted his head to take in his surroundings, only to find himself still on his back in the room at the Leaky Cauldron and Rieghard passed out next to him.

He pulled himself to his feet and found his wand once more and pointed it directly at the passed out form of Rieghard.

William didn't even think twice about the course of action he had decided on, "Avada…"

Suddenly the form of Rieghard sprang to his feet and shouted, "NO!"

William jumped back but kept his wand trained on Rieghard as another façade melted away and Professor Mason was standing in front of William once more.

William didn't look the way he felt, he knew that, but what had happened here in the room and what had happened inside his mind, those events were made real by his mind and he was feeling them now. And Professor Mason taking Rieghard's place was almost too much for the young wizard to take and he nearly finished the death curse that he shouldn't have even been able to cast but felt sure he would be able to at the moment.

His wand still held at the ready on Professor Mason/Rieghard/Whoever the hell it was William asked, "What did you see in the Mirror of Erised my first year at Hogwarts?"

Professor Mason smiled like a proud grandfather, "Socks."

"How many people were in Hagrid's hut when he was arrested my second year?" William continued to seek authentication.

"Cornelius Fudge, myself, Hagrid, Lucius Malfoy, yourself and Ronald Weasley under your father's invisibility cloak and Hagrid's pet Fang," Professor Mason answered with patience.

Still unsatisfied as he reasoned that Ron or Professor Mason could have told someone about either of those two instances, he asked the question he knew that no one besides himself and Professor Mason knew, "What is the prophecy concerning myself and Rieghard, exactly?"

Any fool could have deduced that a prophecy concerning William and Rieghard could only mean that it would be about the ultimate fight between them and who would win. Asking exactly what the prophecy stated insured that this was indeed Professor Mason.

"William, do not be so foolish as to believe that no one is watching and listening to our conversation. Your earlier questions posed no threat, but this I can not submit to," Professor Mason explained while staring William in the eye.

"Write it down then," was all the William responded with, not lowering his wand for an instant.

Professor Mason summoned his wand to him, and William reacted by reinforcing his grip on his own wand and watched as a piece of parchment and inked quill were conjured.

Professor Mason handed over the piece of parchment for William to read and waited for the ink to reveal itself. It was obvious that Professor Mason was unwilling to take even the smallest chances.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies … and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not … and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives … the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

William binned the parchment and Professor Mason incinerated it not more than half a second after it was placed in the basket.

William finally lowered his wand, hoping that he was making the right decision, as he didn't know what was going on anymore if Professor Mason was attacking him in a hotel room.

"Do you want to explain all of this then?" William asked and slumped into the chair and the desk the room provided.

Professor Mason himself sat on the edge of the four-poster and focused his eyes on William's.

William was growing impatient and despite the visceral nature of his wounds they still reverberated through him painfully, "Well, go on then."

"You believed yourself capable of taking care of yourself," Professor Mason began.

William ran his hands through his hair, "How did you come to that conclusion? Oh, wait, I left the safety of my aunt's house so that must have implied I thought I was capable of taking care of myself, right?"

"I think you've seen how well I can take care of myself Professor," William continued on sarcastically. "Did you get the prophecy out of my head then?"

Professor Mason allowed himself another smile and softly said, "No, my dear boy, no."

William decided this was his chance to reinforce his decision, "I am not going back."

"William," Professor Mason started and stood up, "your mother sacrificed herself…"

William jumped up from his seat, "Don't you dare bring my mother into this."

Professor Mason acknowledged his mistake of using William's mother to coax him, "Where then would you go William. You could not stay here. I daresay Tom will be in a right state when he finds out about his eastern wall."

William hadn't even really thought about what had happened during their duel. He was fuming that Professor Mason had put him through this test and actually dueled him, and utterly confused as to how he had done what he had done. He knew that Professor Mason must have had some idea of what was happening to him if he had engaged this little demonstration.

Professor Mason proceeded with his next question as William had yet to answer his first, "Grimmauld Place?"

Suddenly William was aware of the fact that Professor Mason was speaking and shouted his answer without meaning to, "NO!"

"Hogwarts?" William asked tentatively, not sure why he was being some worried about the decision.

Professor Mason looked William up and down before appearing to have made a decision, although William was unable to decipher what his facial expressions meant.

"No," Professor Mason finally said.

"What do you mean, no?" William blurted out.

Professor Mason kept his gaze steady, and, frowning slightly asked, "What is it that you would like to hear William?"

"Honestly?" William asked a little dumbfounded.

Professor Mason smiled slightly, "Please."

"I want to hear that I'm going to go somewhere where I can figure out whatever it is that I have that he doesn't have," William said with a trace of anxiety in his voice.

Professor Mason walked to the edge of the room and took in the view of the market below, his right hand on his chin in a contemplating gesture.

William felt drawn for some reason to go to his headmaster and stand next to him, to stand with him.

"I have gained this by philosophy: that I do without being commanded what others do only from fear of the law," Professor Mason quoted, though William did not know he was quoting Aristotle and took this for another of his headmaster's musings.

"Do you understand, William?" Professor Mason asked.

"I think so, sir. You do what you do because it is the right thing, not because you have to," William answered; unsure of what this had to do with his situation.

"William, you have only been away from Hogwarts for one day. Are you so eager to return?" Professor Mason inquired while gazing at the full moon.

William answered without hesitation, "Hogwart's is my home."

Professor Mason lowered his chin to his chest and shook his head lightly side to side before turning to look at William, "I do not expect you to understand the amount of damage you cause by saying that, and that is another of my faults William, but please do not repeat what you have just said."

"But sir, Hogwarts ismy home," William repeated hotly, furious that Professor Mason was not being true to his word.

"William," Professor Mason began again, watching as the clouds moved away from the moon and William was cascaded in the pale glow of the reflected light and he raised his wand once more.

"I was seconds away from killing you," William stated. "You would have me go back there still?"

"What was it about them that made you so sure that I would be safe there?" William asked, concerned that Professor Mason was suffering senility.

"Safe from rogue death-eaters? Safe from my godfather, who was unjustly imprisoned? Safe from love, because that is what you are so concerned about isn't it? You told me in your office that you watched me, closer than even I know, how close professor? Because from where I'm coming from, you couldn't have been watching too closely."

"Tell me exactly," William demanded and his knuckles turned white as he gripped his wand even tighter.

"There are a number of items in the house of number 4 Privet Drive which have allowed me to keep an eye on your well-being," Professor Mason answered evasively.

William scoffed at the answer he received, "And you can justify all of this?"

Professor Mason looked heartbroken at the accusation and William knew he was finally getting somewhere with his questions.

'_So he knew,'_ William told himself after seeing the broken look in his headmaster's eyes.

"You knew, didn't you?" William asked softly, involuntarily lowering his wand as he lost focus.

"It was for the best that you grew up away from the fame of your name and lineage," Professor Mason replied.

"Do you know that I don't even know what my parents did for a living? Do you know that I have no clue about my lineage?" William questioned and abruptly lost his temper. "I DON'T HAVE A BLOODY CLUE!"

Albus Mason was blown across the room, and thankfully landed on the soft mattress of the bed at the end of William's outburst that came with his tantrum. He extricated himself from the duvet he had momentarily become entangled in and walked back to where William was standing with his wand focused on his chest.

"I get to be selfish," William declared with tears in his eyes and Professor Mason's eyes went wide.

"Avada…" William started with his wand aimed at his own heart.

Professor Mason instantly appeared to be several feet taller and with a voice that shook the very foundation of the pub/hotel and worried the patrons in the pub below and rooms next door and down the hall, he roared a single syllable, "NO!"

William shut his eyes, not caring about Professor Mason or anyone else at that moment, all he wanted was to see his parents and Samuel and this was the way to answer his own wish, "Kedavra."

A green light enveloped the entire room and for a moment Professor Mason was oddly impressed that William had been able to cast the curse so powerfully before he could be stunned. That pride only lasted for the few seconds it took the aftershock of the curse to reverberate throughout the room and wash Albus in its glow and after-effects.

William Penn's body slumped to the floor with a thud, and his wand rolled out of his grip away from him.

Albus Mason managed after a couple of minutes of lying on the hard floor and staring up at the ceiling, to roll onto his stomach and raise himself up on his hands and knees before emptying the contents of his stomach onto the wooden floor beneath him. He had suspected that William would be unable to cope with his responsibility, but this, suicide? He had thought William had been made of more resolve, but now... a new course of action was required.

He pushed himself up onto his heels and then onto his feet where he braced himself on one of the posts of the bed before he even attempted to walk.

William's body lay not more than five feet away, with his wand just out of reach of his hand, but oddly his chest was repeatedly lifting and falling with rhythm.

Professor Mason summoned William's body to him, throwing him over his shoulder and then summoned the boy's wand, which went into his robe's pocket; he then disapparated without a sound from the room.

William woke with the involuntary sensation of his body vomiting. Unlucky for him as his ejected his stomachs contents straight up into the air, which summarily landed all over his face, hair and chest. He reacted by bringing his hands to his eyes and wiping away the partially digested pieces of food, then wiping the oatmeal texture like vomit away from his mouth and nostrils. His eyes tried to survey the room in an attempt to find out where he was, in his room at the Leaky Cauldron he hoped, but his glasses weren't on his face and the entire room was out of focus. The stench of the vomit wasn't helping him to identify where he was either and as he tried to turn on his side and reach for the bed-side table, if there was one, the memory of the pain associated with the killing curse returned to him and shot throughout him worse than the cruciatus.

He lay back against the comfort of the bed with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. The pain was so intense that he was unable to even utter a sound of discomfort.

His mind was reeling with questions. What had happened? Where am I? What happened to Professor Mason? Did I really do that? Where's Samuel?

He could hear the sounds of shoes tapping on the marble floor of wherever he was and even the sound of the steps on hard floors pained him.

"Mr. Penn," a matronly voice stated. "It appears that you have returned to me early."

William knew that voice anywhere, Madam Pomfry, which meant that he was at Hogwarts. Which, when he thought about it was the logical place to be. Professor Mason must have brought him here instead of St. Mungo's and Samuel' place to avoid unnecessary questions and publicity.

There was the sound of a snort when Madam Pomfry came into William's view and he was aware that she knew of his bid to move.

"I will not even endeavour to reprimand you on this occasion, Mr. Penn," she informed him and he could see her wave a wand over his body and the filth on his face and in his hair was vanished with a soft 'scourgify'.

William was eternally grateful that she would be lenient just this once, as he did not need her to remind him of his own stupidity.

"You now full well how idiotic you were," she finished and William managed to make a shamed expression despite the discomfort. "He's all yours headmaster, he should be fine by the end of the day."

William could hear Professor Mason's congenial voice, "Thank you Poppy. William and I are truly grateful for your care."

Madam Pomfry made an 'hmmph' sound and William listened in pain to her footsteps as they progressively got further and further away until he could hear them no more.

William's glasses were placed back on his face with care and he was able to see his headmaster clearly now.

"Good morning, William," Professor Mason greeted with a smile.

William only stared at the man.

"Ah, interesting is it not?" Professor Mason asked.

William fought the urge to ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but his eyes were the appendage that ultimately betrayed him and caused Professor Mason to continue twinkling his eyes and answer.

"Interesting that you, yes, you would not be able to execute yourself. Though it seems," he added with a laugh, "that you are able to inflict quite a serious amount of damage on yourself without fully succumbing to death."

William found no amusement in the situation. Inside of his head he was berating himself for being selfish and stupid all at once and a completely thoughtless git while still congratulating himself for getting to Hogwarts.

Professor Mason continued on, "I would not recommend you trying that ever again however. You have been unconscious for nearly 46 hours."

Again William's eyes betrayed him with the wonder he felt at having lost 46 hours.

"There is a wide difference between speaking to deceive, and being silent to be impenetrable," Professor Mason informed him when it was apparent that he was not going to speak.

"I'm sure you would like to return to your rest," Professor Mason finished and left William alone in the hospital ward.

William closed his eyes and finally his mouth as he had developed a severe case of cottonmouth and salivated to wet his tongue.

"I'm a prize idiot," William said aloud and then passed out.

William woke several hours later to a rather harder mattress and threadbare sheets surrounding him. A quick grab with his right hand and a hasty application of his glasses to his face, William pulled himself up and found that he was back at number 4.

He was at once madder than hell and supremely amused, an odd contradiction of emotions if there ever was such a pair. The repaired digital clock that sat atop the desk in this bedroom flashed 5:45 in the a.m. and William fell back onto the bed.

The sound of the springs underneath his bed groaning and snapping was loud enough to wake his relatives, but when no one arrived at his door pounding on it like there was no tomorrow hat sat up slowly and quietly. He eased himself off the bed so as not to disturb the rusting metal beneath and placed his hands on the small of his back to crack his spine and stretch out the soreness of the other night's events.

William's peripheral vision caught a glimpse of the Dursley's car and he was drawn to see the damage that he had inflicted before he had decided to take a stroll. He was surprised to see that there was absolutely no damage to the windshield and when he turned around he found the same chair he had tossed out right where it should have remained and completely unscathed.

Then a flash of movement caught his eye next. Across the street in the house that stood vacant despite being sold a person was moving around in front of the window on the second floor and for a moment William was sure that that person had locked eyes with him and nodded.

His trunk had been returned here as well, and Hedwig's cage still sat on top of the desk- although she was still out.

"Penn," a voice hissed from below his window.

"Huh?" William asked the thin air.

"Get changed and get your arse down here, now," the voice called again. "If you're so keen on running, then you're going to run until you can't run any longer."

"Who is that?" William asked again.

Kingsley Shacklebolt uncovered removed the disillusionment charm he had cast on himself and allowed William to see him, "Satisfied?"

William pulled back from the windowsill and Kingsley disappeared once more. William wasn't too sure about what he was about to get himself into, but he changed into a pair of overly large sweatpants that David had never worn and a white t-shirt that seemed to fit him better than the last time he had put it on. He laced up the trainers he had used for the past couple of years, constantly berating the state of the mesh that had more holes than a wheel of Swiss cheese.

Descending the stairs as quietly as possible, William made it to the first floor and then out the front door.

"Got your wand?" Shacklebolt asked at William's right.

"In my waistband," William answered.

"You should have had it at the ready, I could have been a death-eater in disguise," Kingsley chided.

William was non-plussed, "Death-eater's aren't intelligent enough to have remembered the ear-ring, and they aren't patient."

Kingsley grunted, but was of the same opinion that William had. "C'mon then, you feel like running…"

William cut him off, "Let's just get this charade over with. You don't want to be here any more than I do, so let's go."

William took off after that, heading east again down Privet Drive, and Kingsley was right behind him the whole way.

It was thirty minutes later that they returned from where they had disappeared around the corner of where Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive met. William appeared to be drenched in sweat from the waist up, and his running partner who was disillusioned so well as to not even have a faint outline of light bending around his magic had only just started to really sweat and breathe hard.

William collapsed on the front garden of number 4 just as the sun was rising over the village of Little Whinging; only to be pulled to his feet by Kinglsey and instructed that he needed to stretch out and to be awake at the same time the next morning.

He did as he was told and when he asked about the happenings of the order his words were only met with only the sound of the wind rustling through the tree's the homeowners had paid to be planted in their gardens.

Dragging himself back into the house, William trudged up the steps to the second floor and into the lavatory where he turned on the taps for the shower and cleansed himself of the sweat and grime he had covering him. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist as he had no clothes to change into in the loo and headed for the room he was staying in.

He tossed his wand onto the ripped duvet that he used at night and pulled on a set of clothes, that, like the sweatpants and t-shirt had also belonged to David at some point in their existence.

A tawny owl landed on his windowsill while he was pulling the shirt over his head and adjusting it to comfort. The red of the envelope instantly made William avoid taking the letter from the bird; in retaliation for not accepting the post the owl proceeded to dive bomb William in his room until he reluctantly caught the owl and relieved it of its duty. The owl flew off into the bright sunny sky before William could turn the letter over to see who had written him a howler. If his conscience was correct then it was Mrs. Weasley who had written him, as he was sure that Professor Mason had had to tell someone what William had done.

William succumbed to his fate, remembering Neville's warning about ignoring them too long and his own warning to his aunt last summer when she had received one from Professor Mason.

He regretted his decision to open it the moment the parchment unfolded and transfigured itself in a ferocious representation of a mouth with fangs.

'_WILLIAM PENN, JUST WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS DID YOU THINK YOU WERE GOING TO ACCOMPLISH WITH THAT STUNT. RUNNING AWAY LIKE THAT, HONESTLY CHILD! YOU'RE JUST LUCKY THAT ARABELLA HAD BEEN WATCHING YOU AND PROFESSOR MASON KNEW WHERE TO FIND YOU. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH DAMAGE WAS DONE TO THE LEAKY CAULDRON? THERE'S EVEN AN ARTICLE ABOUT THE ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT ON WILLIAM PENN IN THE DAILY PROPHET! RONALD HAS THREATENED TO KILL YOU, GINNY HAS THREATENED TO SNAP YOUR BROOM OVER YOUR HEAD AND HERMIONE WON'T EVEN SPEAK ANY LONGER! YOU ARE NOT MY CHILD BUT YOU'RE AS GOOD AS, COUNT YOURSELF LUCKY THAT I DON'T APPARATE DIRECTLY TO YOUR HOME AND TAKE YOU OVER MY KNEE YOUNG MAN!'_

The parchment folded back in on itself before disintegrating in a small spectacular display of flames to which the ashes blew away in the gently breeze that had found its way into the bedroom.

'_Hermione and Ron are together somewhere then?'_ William asked himself heatedly, completely disregarding the motherly scolding he just received.

He did not like the idea that he was once again supposed to play the role of uniformed captive when his sole protection was of the utmost importance. He also did not like the idea that his two best friends were again shacked up somewhere without him with even a gleaming of the information that he completely lacked.

If Professor Mason had any faith left in William then he was sure that that light had been extinguished the moment he had tried to kill himself. They had both lost trust in the other now, and William was sure that there were even more safety precautions taken on his behalf to make sure that the same mistake was not repeated.

William let out a roar that could be heard halfway down the street and one that woke his aunt Rose and David who were still sleeping while Johnathon was in the shower preparing for his day at Grunnings.

Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice could be heard again after the deafening roar ceased, "Take it out in the porker's gym, Penn."

William had wanted to rage, and in an odd turn of events, instead of letting out his rage on Kingsley, the closest person available, William did just as he was advised and entered David's gym.

Completely unaware of how to use the machinery or the free weights, William caught sight of the hanging leather bag and knew sure enough what to do to the stuffed sack and laid into it with everything that was bottled up inside of him.

"SODDING RIEGHARD! Pound – POUND- POUND… DAMN MASON AND HIS BLOODY ORDER! – POUND – POUND – POUND… DAMN ME, DAMN ME TO BLOODY HELL! – POUND – POUND – POUND – POUND – POUND – POUND..."

William took a step back away from the bag that had only the top half hanging by the chains and the bottom half barely hanging by a shred of leather. The contents had spilled out onto the floor of the personal gym housed in the former greenhouse. There was blood mixed with sweat on the top half on the bag and when William brought his fists up to see what he had done to his hands he found his knuckles all but completely bared of the skin covering the bone and blood covering the better half of his hands. He was barely aware that someone was calling his voice from the back door of number 4 and he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He tried to see who was calling him, they were using his last name, and he still couldn't make out who it was until he swiped the glaze away from his eyes with the back of his hands, which only left a swipe of blood across his brow and nose.

"Penn!" Rose screamed from the safety of the backdoor to her home.

"Yes, Aunt Rose," William mechanically answered, conditioned to be prepared for a scolding no matter what had happened.

"Get in this house this instant!" she screeched, her eyes darting to the fences of the back garden.

"Yes Aunt Rose," William repeated and set himself on autopilot to make it to the house.

Once inside the confines of the kitchen, and after having pulled all the curtains down, William's Aunt Rose whirled about from the sink and flung her open palm through the air, intent on slapping the boy. Instead, her palm connected with his cheek, but was blown back without having left the force Rose had intended.

Rose cradled her hand in the crook of her other arm and looked at her nephew for the first time with fear. Before, she had looked on him with what had been loathing disgust, contempt even, but now… now it was simple fear. He had just torn apart her son's top of the line leather punching bag with his bare fists all the while screaming incoherent nonsense; she was sure the boy had gone mad. She failed to see the tears in the boy's eyes after he had destroyed the bag.

"Go clean yourself up," Rose instructed when she failed to come up with anything else.

William left without a word and was only a moment later in the lavatory upstairs rinsing his hands and face of the blood he had torn from himself.

He stared into the mirror for a long while, just looking at himself and trying to find out who he was. And with one final splash of water to his face that rinsed off the last of the caked blood on his brow he asked himself, "What is happening to me?"


	3. Around the Block

**FOR ALL THE GHOSTS THAT ARE NEVER GONE:**

Harry wasn't feeling as winded after the circuits he went on with Kingsley as he had the previous week, and to him, running was fast becoming a substitute for occlumency. He thought of nothing anymore when he went out in the morning, and now in the evenings; he just simply closed off his mind not wanting to think about everything and how bad he and a select few had turned it worse. How far he ran exactly he didn't know as Kingsley had never told him and kept him on a track that basically circled Privet Drive, Wisteria Walk, Magnolia Crescent and Chrysanthemum Street; he hadn't had the use of a pedometer, his wand or even his conscious thought of how many paces it was from one corner to the next so he could do the math later on in his enforced exile.

Kinglsey gave Harry an invisible pat on the back for his effort this morning and silently took up his post of guard for the morning and early afternoon shift at number 4. He had reported on Harry's progress to Albus and the member's of the Order who had expressed concern over Harry; all he had had to say was that the boy was quiet, healthy and growing, he failed to mention exactly how Harry was growing and everyone made their own assumption. On a personal level, as an Auror and senior member of the Order of the Phoenix, this assignment was a slap in the face; no matter who made the call that he was one of the members selected for guard duty. His opinion was that he should be out with the rest of the reconnaissance team, at least doing something semi-helpful for the wizarding community instead of standing guard over one of the people He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had a personal vendetta against. He held suspicions of course, as to why the protection of Harry Potter was so important, but suspicions were all they were as evidence to support any of his theories had yet to surface.

Harry hadn't yet spoken a word to anyone since the incident with Dudley's hanging bag, though his eyes to most would seem to only be asking questions in return to people questioning him and becoming frustrated with his lack of compliance. He sat on the stoop to the front door of number 4 after finishing his stretches and watched the sun quickly rise to prominence in the sky; this appeared to Kingsley to be the only time when he would see Harry show any sign of outward emotion since the gym accident; no one could figure out why Harry was smiling at the sun back at headquarters when Kingsley had made note of this to Albus, who sadly smiled when he heard this.

The warmth of the sun surrounded Harry, and for a while, Harry sat there enjoying being able to be somewhat alone on vacation; basking in the sun and imagining he was somewhere else entirely.

The front door Harry was leaning against jerked back and he slid to the right to allow his uncle to pass by without noticing him sitting there.

Either Vernon Dursley completely missed seeing his nephew sitting on the steps outside his house, or he ignored him. Harry knew however, that from the front seat of his car, Vernon had clearly seen Harry by the abject look he was shot with. Harry only blinked his eyes without concern, watching as his uncle shifted speedily into reverse out of the driveway and then sped off towards his company for a long day of administrative business involving the sales of drills.

With his uncle gone, Dudley still asleep, and his aunt in the kitchen afraid to near death of the sight of him, Harry ascended the stairs and took a shower before returning to his bedroom for a long morning, afternoon and early evening of filling his time with what he could.

After a quick shower, Harry returned to his room to find that Hedwig had still not returned from her latest delivery; making Harry question whether or not he should have sent her and making himself worry about his friend, his first friend. He threw his towel over the broken door to his cabinet, changed into a pair of denims and plopped down into his chair and opened the latest book he had received.

In all, Harry had received four books in response to his letters for advice. The foot-notes that made reference to the original source of material, found at the bottom of the pages of his text-books seemed as good a place to start as any, Harry reasoned. Seeing as he had no money, save for three galleons, two sickles and five knuts, no way to get to Gringotts to retrieve more and Flourish and Blott's against accepting order's on I.O.U.'s from some wizard claiming to be _the_ Harry Potter (like someone hadn't already tried that scam on them before); the only option left to him was to ask for help. Even though he couldn't figure out whom to ask that would help him and that's when he finally noticed the footnotes and took a chance on sending off letters to the authors of the original texts. A day later, the first book had arrived, 'Method's and Practice of Lancastrian Dueling'; he hadn't received a return note and did not know who had sent it, but after spending the day up until his evening run he nearly finished half the tome, he was so enthralled. Over the course of the week the other three had arrived, 'Deadly Dishonor: The Duel and the Honor Code', 'World Techniques Applied', and 'That Damned Thing Called Honor'. The second had been the most recently produced, so recent in fact that in truth it was hand written by whomever had sent it, it read more as a personal diary than anything but as a specific manual that explained the theory, practice, and uses (specific to the culture who developed the magic and how it could be applied to situations throughout the world)- Harry had had a good laugh in the loo when he read about the drunk elephants staggering around the plains that the author had written about and explained in great detail. The third just made him think of the title being something that Seamus would say, but nonetheless the text was brilliant, the strategies outlined, most from Auror training guides throughout Europe and Australasia, and the counterattacks that whoever had written this _decimated _them by ignoring certain rules of engagement and formality that had been ingrained in people's minds for centuries. Then, there was 'Deadly Dishonor', a book that in no uncertain words throughout the first half of the tome instructed the reader on how to destroy your opponent (Psychologically/Spiritually and Physically)… Harry studied it reluctantly; the second half consisted of dueling stances, wizarding traditions to engage a formal or informal duel, rules and regulations, collection of titles and wagers, laws and bi-laws to the amendment written for the sanctioning of duels set forth in the Ministry of Magic's Article's of Independence from Muggle British Rule.

In the week that Harry had been in possession of these tomes, he had tried absorbing every page in what he thought to himself as classic Hermioneism. Although it did him little good, as he was unable to practice any of the magic, he did what he was able. Every day he practiced his dueling stances, mimicking the instructional pictures on the pages as best he could and trying to improve every day. His wrist movements and his drawing technique he practiced with a branch he fashioned after his wand with a knife he nicked from the kitchen, specifically so he would not accidentally force the hand of the ministry.

Haphazardly the thought of Hermione brought up conflicting emotions inside of him. He was glad that she and Ron were together and away from him, but at the same time he felt the same betrayal he had felt last summer- even when he knew that they had no say in this. He let the feelings go with the thought that it was something best dealt with later and went down to the gym in the back garden.

The hanging bag had been repaired, and there wasn't a grain of sand anywhere on the ground to have ever given away a trace of evidence that what had happened, happened. Harry started his free weight routine with the thought that in an hour and half he'd be back upstairs improving his Dacian and Angevian forms. His only gain in advice from Kinglsey so far had been to check the side of the benches for the usual instructions, and when Harry had checked... reluctantly, he found them and made use of them. He barely weighed in under ten stone and one hundred and seventy seven centimeters tall. He was proud of the weight that he was able to work with in the gym, nothing spectacular but nothing too small as Dudley had told him.

Harry wiped down the benches he had used, took another shower and was back in the smallest room upstairs, again.

Hedwig had returned, but without a return message or parcel and catching the sullen look that Harry was trying valiantly to hide from his familiar, she flew to his right shoulder and perched herself; assuming the title of owner belonged to her at this moment. Harry was pleased with the company and familiar weight that he had missed over the last couple of days and went about the few chores he wanted to accomplish getting done before he started; he changed the lining of Hedwig's 'quarter's' as he was calling them now as cage earned him a calculated amber eyed wordless berating, replenished the depleted water dish and set out a few owl treats for her and then he pulled the bedclothes back up on to his bed where they belonged and he was finished.

He took a step away from his bed and got down on his knees to access the hidden compartment under the loose floorboard where he kept his books. The books flew behind him and up onto the desk as he tossed them over his shoulder while he pulled them out of their hiding space one by one. Why he was hiding them here he didn't really know, he assumed that Professor Dumbledore had someway to monitor his presence while in the room or anywhere in the house; a sort of Marauder's map of the Dursley's house, but he still wasn't sure exactly how close Professor Dumbledore was watching him.

There was a soft knock at the door, one that to Harry's ears sounded reluctant and then the answering voice of his aunt that carried through the first floor of the house with, "coming Emma."

Harry knew that Mrs. Preston was his aunt's usual gossip partner and paid no mind after hearing the name of who was at the door, and went back to his studies, opening 'Method and Practice' to page fifty-four.

Even through the closed door he heard the hushed ominous tones of his aunt, "get out."

Harry dropped his practice wand onto the desk and opened his door intent on going downstairs to see which order member had decided to make their presence known.

Standing in the foyer, directly below Harry at the foot of the stairs stood none other than Remus Lupin. Appearing to have been to every pub in London, and smelling as such, he turned his head to the right and up to look directly into Harry's eyes.

The cold dead look in Remus' eyes instantly made Harry's own eyes shy away, and a new wave of guilt that he had been holding at bay starting rushing his inner walls.

Remus spoke first, ignoring Petunia's incessant ranting on how could someone in his state show up at their door, "Hello, Harry."

Harry's first instinct was to go for his wand. The controlled way in which his old professor had spoken to him suggested he was reining his true emotions in; this only succeeded in frightening Harry.

"Hello, Professor," Harry replied monotonously.

"I will not have this… ," Harry and Remus heard Petunia speaking, but neither paid her any mind and Harry turned to go back upstairs followed by Remus.

Remus closed the door while Petunia's language took a turn for the worse and she showed just how un-lady-like she could be.

Harry gestured for Remus to have a seat at the desk chair, and he decided to sit on the edge of the bed. He had thought for a moment to close his books, but Remus had just as little reason to talk to Professor Dumbledore as he did and he didn't see the harm. Perhaps he could even ask a question or two on something that he was having a particularly hard time learning.

The older man's eyes scanned the room, or to him what he saw as the storage room of the home he was in. His inner rage increased when he started to think of how Lily and Jame's would have taken the news of their son living 'here' of all places, and then he saw the books on the desktop, 'Method's and Practice', 'Deadly Dishonor: The Duel and the Honor Code', 'World Techniques Applied' and there was another text he was sure of but the title was obscured by pieces of parchment lined with Harry's untidy and completely illegible scrawl.

Harry felt decidedly better about having his old professor in his room when the older man began to laugh, and then he began to think that Professor Lupin was laughing at his attempts to learn and turned angry.

"What!" Harry snapped, incensed that his old Professor would laugh at something he was doing.

Remus ignored Harry's anger, and through his laughing and grimacing when he clutched hurt ribs he managed, "I could… never… read your assignments."

Harry was obviously shocked, that was the last thing he had expected Professor Lupin to say and he couldn't think of anything to say in rebuttal; thankfully Remus kept laughing and explaining.

"Had to get Lily's old transcription spell out, you write just like James, I swear it," and Remus wiped at the happy tears in his eyes, glad for once that melancholy had been lifted for a few moments.

Harry stared dumbfounded at Remus. No one had ever told him that he had written like his father. There had been comments where people would say that he looked almost exactly like his father, and he appreciated those comments more than he would let anyone know; but this odd connection of sharing the same penmanship with his father made him feel like there was another part of him that was still around... when the rest was with his mother. He wanted Remus to keep talking about his father, and offered a blushing smile when he kept thinking of having another trait that belonged to his father.

"And Sirius," Remus added laughing, and then stopped when he mentioned the name. "Well… he was no better."

Harry's attention was drawn to the pattern of the hardwood floor in his room that he had never taken the time to study, and Remus' eyes were fixated on something arbitrary as well while silence filled the room and each one of them searched for the right words.

"I'm sorry," Harry managed, when he looked up hoping to meet Remus' eyes and found the older man staring out the window.

Remus turned his gaze away from the street lamp he had been fixated on and sighed when Harry apologized.

Silence drowned the room while they stared at one another. Harry hoped that whatever Remus was searching for as he stared at Harry, that he would at least find his sincerity.

"We all are," Remus finally spoke.

Harry let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding in and looked down at his shoes, unable to think of anything to say.

"Where did you get these books," Remus asked, now holding 'Method's and Practice' and flipping through the pages.

"Dunno," Harry answered truthfully. "I wrote a few letters and these were all that came back. I figured the order is monitoring my post, and if these made it through then they must have been safe to open."

"I wouldn't know about the post," Remus clarified for himself, still rifling through the pages with interest.

Harry nodded his head; at least he knew that Professor Lupin is having nothing to do with keeping him completely sheltered from the rest of the wizarding world.

"So, what's being going on with the Order?" Harry asked, trying desperately to mask the eagerness for information he was feeling. "What's Voldemort up to?"

Remus never looked up from the text in his lap when he answered, "I wouldn't know."

"Wouldn't know, or you can't tell me?" Harry inquired for clarification.

Remus finally looked up from the book, finished flipping through from front to back.

"How much of that," Remus pointed towards 'Method's and Practice', "have you read?"

"All of it," Harry answered. "Those other three as well."

Harry did not care at all for the scrutinizing; or rather appraising eye's with which Remus was focusing on him, "What?"

"You could have only had them for no more than ten days, Harry," Remus deduced.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, there isn't a whole lot for me to do around here. Kinglsey makes me run in the mornings, then I read and revise all morning and afternoon, sure I'm allowed to use the gym downstairs for about an hour and half, but after that its just more studying and then another run and then more studying," Harry declared at length.

Remus smirked, happier than he had been in a long while and finally seeing the James in Harry that Sirius had seen and just exactly where the line was drawn.

"What!?" Harry asked in frustration and kicked one of the chair legs next to Remus' right calf.

"Come," Remus ordered and stood up. "Let's go out back."

Harry stared confusedly up at his old professor, unsure whether or not Remus was still on the piss. He followed, nevertheless.

Remus waved a nonchalant hand in Harry's aunt's direction when she turned around from a sink full of soapy dishes and opened her mouth to start a tirade. She closed her mouth without a second thought, but glared daggers at Remus before returning her yellow rubber gloved hands to her previous task. She hadn't even seen Harry.

Harry's eyes opened wide at the interaction between Remus and his aunt, wondering what Remus had been like as a young man in his prime and what his father, Sirius and Remus all would have been like together as men of means and intelligence.

Out of nowhere a fist sailed through the air when Harry stepped off the porch and into the back garden. Harry instantly pulled himself back, away from the blow, only to see Remus throw another at him as he dodged the second.

Harry tried to throw up his arms to block the punches and kicks that kept coming at him, but even blocking hurt. He didn't know what he had done, or why Remus was doing this... maybe this was because of Sirius, and he started to drop his natural reaction guarding.

"Keep your hands up," Remus growled and lunged at Harry.

"Why are you doing this?" Harry asked lamely, jumping as far to the left as possible to avoid Remus' grasp.

"Stop me," Remus commanded, kipping up and causing Harry to lose concentration as he wondered how Remus had just done that without a wand.

"How?" Harry asked, searching the back garden for anything he could use to defend himself.

"Think of something," Remus offered and tossed a clump of grass and dirt at Harry's face to make him concentrate on that instead of his actual attack.

Harry was suddenly caught with a punch from the right, just under his chest and barely an inch away from his solar plexus that would have downed him. He fell back onto his bum and scurried back to his feet, scanning the yard again; desperate to find something as he knew he couldn't take Remus with his bare hands.

"Do… something," Remus commanded, not overly proud of Harry's lack of creativity.

"What do you want me to do?" Harry panted, taking a punch to his forearm and jumping to the right, putting him up against the wooden six-foot garden fence and collecting splinters. "I can't beat you without magic, why are you doing this!?"

Remus stopped going after Harry and took a breath, and Harry dropped his hands to right above his knees breathing deeply.

"Stand up, Harry, you'll breath easier, put your hands above your head, like this," Remus instructed, and Harry started to feel less winded; even the runs he had been on with Kingsley hadn't prepared him for using every part of himself like this. "Listen to me; you will not always have your wand, Harry. Sometimes you have to rely on what you alone have inside you or what you can scrounge up."

Harry glared at his former Professor for pointing out the obvious.

"Now, fourteen inches, analyzing this little instructional and what could have been done on your behalf to have beaten me, due tomorrow."

"Huh?" Harry eloquently questioned.

"You yourself said you lacked activities with which to keep yourself occupied. I've only set you a task to provide you with something productive to hold you over," Remus stated.

Harry stared open-mouthed for half a minute before replying without thinking, "Yes, professor."

Remus turned on his heel and let himself out through the gate to the back garden rather than going back through the house; although he would have liked to have seen Petunia's face when he traipsed mud and grass through her home.

Harry stayed in the back garden for a good hour after Professor Lupin had left, rubbing his arms and legs, wincing every time he grazed a bruise that he forgot was there. Most of the time he spent there he contemplated what he could have done to have beaten Remus, and there had been a few idea's that came to mind. But nothing came to him that was really capable of stopping a person that possessed werewolf enhanced abilities.

He got up when his aunt had called through the window above the kitchen sink that dinner was almost ready, and he felt shamed that he had lost so much time sitting outside in a daze. He groaned and grumbled to himself about the beating he had taken simply from defending himself and not even having mounted a counterattack, all the way to the back door to number 4 and then planted himself with an unceremonious plop into his usual seat at the dining table.

Harry's uncle, Vernon, and cousin, Dudley, were already seated at the table, each engrossed in something Harry could have cared less about. Vernon was busy reading the latest publication of 'The Independent' and Dudley was concentrating all his attention on the television broadcast that involved a man dancing with a mannequin. Petunia had finished putting the food on the table and when she sat, Vernon set his paper down on the floor beside his chair and for the first time in a long while, Dudley himself used the remote to turn the box off.

They ate in relative silence, but the tension could still be felt. So, Harry ate the roast and vegetables as fast a he could without making himself sick, then excused himself. He rose from his seat, rinsed off his plate and utensils, set them in the dishwasher and disappeared upstairs.

Back in his room, Harry had a debate with himself whether or not to run this evening, as his legs had protested the climb up the stairs after they had experienced this afternoon's activities with Professor Lupin.

Harry decided to run, and after changing into a pair of sweats, and starting his assignment for Professor Lupin so he could digest his food a bit, he set off followed closely by a different member of the Order of the Phoenix; Harry could tell from the breathing pattern that it was not Kinglsey under the invisibility cloak behind him.

**************************************************************

Harry woke the next morning feeling almost exactly like he had the first morning he had woke up after starting to run... objecting to the feeling of consciousness. His whole body, which had not been used in such a collective fashion as it had been yesterday, was trying to make the decision for him to have a nice lie in this morning. He had almost given in to the want for more rest and closed his eyes, but there was a cold breeze wafting through his open window; which, even with his threadbare blanket was cause enough to get out of bed and go for a run to warm up.

He pulled himself from his bed, laughing at the sensation of goose flesh appearing on his arms and legs and dressed in his sweats, trainers and a t-shirt instead of sweater as he'd get to hot half-way through and have to take it off and carry it the rest of the way.

The front door to number four opened and Harry stepped out in the darkness that was five forty-five in the morning and began his warm-up stretches. He said a quick hello to whomever had been unfortunate enough to draw the early shift of 'guarding' him but there had been no reply so Harry decided to just keep to himself rather than have a completely one-sided conversation.

His run had been casual, although he had picked up the pace on the return trip. He had thought he was turning into Mad-Eye for a moment when he looked across the street and thought he saw Professor Lupin waiting for him, casually leaning up against a brick wall.

The sun had finally risen above the rooftops of Little Whinging while Harry sat on the lawn in front of number 4 stretching out his muscles and reining in his breathing pattern. Harry's uncle had left the house for work without a word to his nephew as usual, and he was starting to think that he might just start being congenial in the mornings to offset his uncle.

The funniest thing that Harry had seen in a long while, and probably something that would have caused Mad-Eye Moody to apparate in and destroy something out of an inability to curse the order member, was the sight of whoever was wearing the invisibility cloak. The person concealed by the cloak was breathing so deeply that they were raising the hem of the cloak up above their shoes, and every few seconds Harry was able to make out black trainers that appeared from no where and were cut off above the laces. So, laughing lightly and sweating profusely, Harry left the panting Order member in hopes of a hot shower upstairs.

His shower was quick, and the extra time before noon was devoted solely to the assignment that Remus had set him. There was no reason to actually complete this assignment, as they both knew that it was nothing more than a random task to take their minds off of 'unsavory' topics.

Harry's mind started to drift to having Remus in the room yesterday and the happy revelation that his handwriting was another similarity he shared with his father, and his quill was stayed at prior to the final sentence he was completing for Remus. His quill remained ready to write, but his mind was otherwise preoccupied with thoughts of what his father had been like. He was curious to know if his mother and father would be proud of him, and yet for a reason that escaped him, he was unable to keep from feeling that they were the ones to disappoint; he stopped that thought from progressing any further and shook himself from his musings and finished his essay.

He pushed his glasses up to their proper place on his face and eyed his work, thinking that the entirety of it was nothing more than a long drawn out explanation of, 'I should have hit you over the head with a rock.' He started to laugh at his rough summation and set his essay aside to focus on 'Method's and Practice' prior to Remus' arrival, whenever that would be; and that would no doubt be whenever he heard the scream from downstairs.

'Any man suddenly finding himself committed to a trial by combat might naturally seek out professional instruction to maximize his chances of victory. On the continent, such teachers were known as free-fighters or free-lancers.'

Harry wondered aloud, "Would it still be possible to hire professionals?"

Then, as soon as the thought entered his head, he questioned how he would afford such private instruction and if Professor Dumbledore would even allow a substitution of courses for the coming term on his behalf. Never-mind his O.W.L. score's, every-day Hogwart's lessons would have to be set aside.

Harry wrote a note to remind himself to ask Remus for his advice when he arrived, and then returned to his reading of past duels and strategies famous duelists had applied to achieve victory. Currently he had only made it to account of the duel between 'La Chastaignerie and Jarnac' and the history was interesting enough, but their techniques had been his true interest.

Hedwig frantically started to flap her wings in an effort to get Harry's attention, and when he looked up from the tome to see what all the commotion was about he was shocked to see a smooth rock flying through the air and aimed directly at his head.

Harry's eye's bulged and his instinct took over. Instead of dodging the rock he caught the stone, and with his seeker abilities catching the object did not pose that much of a challenge.

The stone connected with his palm creating a slapping sound, and Harry looked at it queerly, trying to figure out why there was now a rock in his hand. He stood up from his seat and looked out the window trying to see who was out on the front lawn, and there, standing looking disappointed, was Remus.

"Oi, what's the big idea!" Harry shouted and returned the favor.

Remus shook his head and moved out of the way of the rocks trajectory, "Did you stop to think for one moment that the stone could have been a portkey?"

"Forgive me for not thinking..."

Remus cut his explanation off and with an air of neutrality he proclaimed, "No, now start using your head."

Harry understood the implied message in what Remus said to him and acknowledged, "I get it, alright."

Remus nodded curtly and started walking towards the gate entrance for the back garden, and Harry knew that he was meant to meet him there. Harry gathered up his assignment and descended the stairs and practically flew out the backdoor past his aunt's empty scolding.

"You're assignment," Remus requested, holding out his right hand palm up and open.

Harry handed over the parchment and Remus didn't even look at it before crumpling it and throwing it over his shoulder.

Harry's eyes narrowed, "What was the point of that?"

"To keep you busy, and to give me a something to annoy you with," Remus answered and conjured two polished sticks out of the air with an incantation Harry had never heard before.

Remus tossed one of the sticks to Harry and gripped the other in both his hands.

Harry thought it was odd that although Remus appeared to be gripping the bottom of the piece of the wood so tight and indenting the shape of his palm into the timber that his hands seemed so relaxed, as well as the rest of his body's posture.

Harry had barely gotten a grip on the stick Remus had tossed him before Remus knocked it from his hand and onto the grass.

Harry stared at Remus with an expression that expected an explanation.

Remus' eye's darted to the stick with his own expression that explained Harry was to pick it back up.

Harry bent down, taking his eyes off of Remus, and reached out for the stick. The moment his eye's left Remus' Remus brought his weapon above his head and swiftly swung in a downward arc towards Harry's upper torso.

Harry heard rather than saw Remus move, and threw himself to the ground, grasping the shaft of wood in his hands and rolling forward to avoid the impact of Remus' weapon with his ribs. Harry's eye's caught the view of the heel of Remus' right boot in front of his face, he instantly let go of his weapon and with both hands grabbed Remus' foot and pulled it toward him, throwing Remus off balance and onto his back. Remus landed with a thud, but did not let go of his weapon. Harry rolled back and onto his feet, holding his weapon out in front of him on pure instinct. Remus kipped up and Harry stared at him like he knew he had already lost and started to think of the duels he had been studying and how he could apply what he had learned.

Harry feinted to the left, which Remus did not fall for and pulled Harry's weapon out of his hands and leveled both his and Harry's weapons at him menacingly.

"Do not let go," Remus instructed. "Stay light on your feet."

Harry glowered at Remus, but expertly caught the stick when Remus threw it back to him and allowed Harry to see exactly what he had meant.

"Take it," Remus mocked and held his weapon out for Harry to grasp. "If you can, of course."

Harry gripped the tip of Remus' weapon with his left hand while his right maintained a tight hold on his own weapon; the whole time he wished desperately that he could use magic and banish Remus across the lawn and into the hydrangea bushes.

Harry pulled on the weapon and Remus took a step forward, pressing the tip of his weapon against Harry's chest.

Harry roared in rage and in a movement faster than Remus had seen, Harry's own weapon moved in an upward crescent pattern that broke Remus wooden sword in two.

Remus backed slowly away as Harry advanced on him and demanded in an infuriated tone, "Is this what you wanted!"

"Professor Dumbledore mentioned you were capable of great things," Remus replied calmly and with the flick of his wand the broken pieces of wood and Harry's sword disappeared.

Harry backed away and the rage that had previously fuelled him flowed out and away from him, "What... did he say?"

"It would be best if you were to ask him yourself," Remus answered noncommittally.

"Would…?" Harry started to ask, and then stopped himself.

"Yes?" Remus asked with his curiosity peaked.

"Never-mind," Harry whispered, backing away and taking a seat at the patio furniture.

Remus followed Harry to the outside seating and asked, "Mind if I take a seat?"

Harry smiled, "Depends on whether or not you plan on attacking me to make me learn something."

"On my honor," Remus declared and crossed his heart.

"I guess that will have to do," Harry chuckled and gestured for Remus to take a seat.

"Your generosity knows no bounds," Remus chortled and took his seat, crossing his legs.

"Mind telling me what all this is about?" Harry asked, showing off the grass stains on his clothes.

Remus smirked, "Your recent endeavour into studying dueling inspired me. It has been quite some time since I was your professor and you could say that I missed it."

"My favorite professor, I might add," Harry mentioned with a silly grin of a boy having a friendly chat with a mentor figure.

Harry suddenly turned very serious, "This doesn't have anything to do with Sirius, does it?"

Remus said nothing and continued to not look at Harry.

Saying nothing said more to Harry that Remus probably could have properly articulated, and all Harry could do was file away another case of someone's life he had destroyed.

"Well, are you going to tell me how I accomplished what I just did, at least?" Harry pressed airily.

"In all honesty I'm at a loss," Remus said directly, ignoring altogether Harry's previous question. "We, that is to say those in the know, were made aware of an instance where a wall at a well known inn vanished."

Harry looked everywhere but at Remus, "What's happening to me?"

Remus gave Harry a hard look, although there was amusement in his eyes, "You are growing up, you are aware of that aren't you?"

Harry barked out a laugh, "Bollocks, I doubt Ron is going through anything comparable to this."

"No, I rather suspect Ron is dealing with a rather different growing pain," Remus grinned, thinking of Molly's last confession that Ron's dreams were causing her to do more laundry than ever before.

"Huh?" Harry asked, expecting a different answer.

Remus gave Harry a toothy grin, "Don't tell me…"

"Don't tell you what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Never-mind," Remus chuckled, and Harry threw his hands up in the air in an act of his frustration.

"So, what, I'm getting more powerful as I get older?" Harry asked, thinking this might just be part of the prophecy.

Remus sat up straighter to provide himself with a posture of the professor he was about to become for the next few moments, "As a wizard grows, around you age, on average a little older, they begin to experience fluctuations with their magic. Certain attributes with magic will become easier, area's that you might have once struggled with you might find becoming much easier."

"Er, sort of like puberty for the magical," Harry summed up.

Remus stared at Harry confused, the boy had not understood his joke about Ron's nocturnal emissions and yet he knew something about puberty… strange.

"That is the only relative parallel, yes. Take Fred and George for an example, they've come into adulthood and yet they are no more powerful than they were when they were fifteen, does this make sense, then again maybe you're just weird," Remus answered.

"So I could be?"

Remus started to look worried, "You should talk to Professor Dumbledore."

Harry sighed at the lack of a straight answer again, "I don't think he's too keen on speaking with me."

Remus leaned forward and folded his hands together on top of the glass patio table, "Why do you think that?"

"Never-mind," Harry said quickly, thinking they were each saying that more than they should. "I've got another question to ask you."

Remus raised an eyebrow, curious to know what Harry was about to ask, "Yes."

"I was wondering earlier, when I was reading… "

"Why it hurt?" Remus asked seriously and then started to laugh.

Harry glared at Remus but gave a small smile, "Could I hire tutors?"

Remus leaned back in his chair considering what Harry had just asked.

"I don't see why not," Remus answered after a few moments of silent contemplation.

"I don't know if I have the money to do it, and I was wondering if I could use whatever is paid to Hogwart's for it. You know, get tutors instead of the professors already on staff," Harry said in a hurry.

Remus reached out and put a hand on top of the one Harry had lain on top of the glass table, "Slow down Harry, why do you want to have different professors first of all?"

Harry stood up quickly, causing the chair to tip over behind him, "I'm not going to learn what I need to know by attending Professor Binn's History of Magic, or even Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures and definitely not in Snape's dungeon. I need to learn how to destroy him!"

Remus stared at Harry.

"… and Professor Dumbledore has me stuck here, without even giving me a hint as to how I'm supposed to destroy Voldemort…"

"Destroy Voldemort!?" Remus whispered incredulously and nearly fell over in his chair.

Remus silently mouthed the words, 'destroy Voldemort,' once more before Harry spun around to see the reaction on his former professors face.

Harry winced, "I guess I assumed Professor Dumbledore would have said something."

Looking gobsmacked, Remus muttered, "Perhaps you'd care to inform me."

"Remus, you aren't that dense," Harry deadpanned.

"It isn't possible," Remus whispered to himself, but Harry clearly overheard him.

"You said that about Wormtail as well," Harry coldly countered.

"That's the real reason then?" Remus asked his lap.

"What reason?" Harry inquired quickly.

"Why…," Remus started and then shook his head as if clearing away the confusion, "never-mind."

Neither Harry nor Remus had much to say after that, and they both sat in silent contemplation eyeing each other. It had seemed like an eternity but Remus was the first to stand, and when Harry thought they might continue their interrogation of the other, Remus disapparated with a mild cracking sound.

Harry returned to his room, determined to contact at least one free-lancer.

He sat at his desk with his quill sitting in the inkpot trying to figure out who he should write too. He wanted more than anything to write free-lancer on the front of the correspondence envelope and hope that the message reached a suitable destination; and if the destination was any sign of the trouble that he was having the request for help itself he saw as his doom. What in the name of Circe was he supposed to write, 'Dear Sir or Madam, I am in dire, no, DESPERATE need of your expert tutelage and the current curriculum made available at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry leaves something to be desired in courses designed specifically to educate students in how to deal expeditiously with a Dark Lord.'

Harry actually wrote that out as a joke to himself. Hedwig, seeing that he had finished writing and having grown impatient with a lack of use for her over the previous day, made a dash for the post with every intention of flying into the sky looking for someone to deliver the message to. Harry had made the catch of his life as Hedwig was halfway out the window with the post clutched between her talons and he snatched it right out of her grasp to her great chagrin and amber eyed glaring that he was forced to endure now.

He flipped to the back of each book that had been sent to him and found no bibliography, or as he had hoped to find, a registry of current free-lancers.

Muggle curses that were centered more or less on Remus were heard in Harry's room for a good half-hour before he decided to fish through his rubbish bin to see what the Ministry of Magic had written him... out of boredom.

M.o.M.

**Magical Games and Sport **

Mister Harry James Potter

Cc: Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

**Mr. Potter:**

This notice is being sent to inform you that, in accordance with Educational Decree number 25, legislated by former Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and former High Inquisitor/Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Dolores Umbridge, ratified by Minister of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge, your lifetime prohibition of participating scholastically in Quidditch has been recorded with the Ministry of Record's.

Subject to the stipulations of Educational Decree number 25, the declaration of a lifetime ban on the sport of Quidditch is a contradiction of the legislation and cannot be enforced in entirety. The High Inquisitor/Headmistress had only been invested with the power to, 'have supreme authority over all punishments, sanctions, and removal of privileges pertaining to the students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the power to alter such punishments, sanctions, and removals of privileges as may have been ordered by other staff members.' As the decree is only applicable to students of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry your ban will be enforced solely while you remain a student at the aforementioned educational institution.

However, the validity of the decree's scribed by former Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic and former High Inquisitor/Headmistress of Hogwarts Dolores Umbridge and invoked by the Minister of Magic Cornelius Oswald Fudge have come to the attention of the High Court of the Wizengamot; which is currently sitting in session overseeing the possibility that the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Oswald Fudge, exercised power not afforded him in the current charter for established powers and responsibilities for the offices of the Ministry of Magic- England. Should you so wish, you may contest the current ban on your ability to play Quidditch while attending Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Should you choose not to contest, said ban will remain in place until you have either graduated or terminated your stay at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

**William Basil,**

Interim Department Head of Magical Games and Sport

Harry crushed the post between his hands and binned it once more, and without thinking pulled his real wand from his front pocket and cast, "INCENDIO!"

Not only did the post and every other piece of parchment that Harry had discarded into the bin incinerate, but the bin itself melted into a pool of liquid plastic on the floor. Luckily Harry had the window open and the smell of burnt plastic was able to escape without the notice of his aunt.

Harry could have swore he heard laughter outside, and if he had to guess he would have been sure of the fact that there was an Order member outside sniggering away at Harry's lack of control and the pending possibility that he was about to be in serious trouble with the ministry.

Three hours later, in the early afternoon not one owl had been sent by the Ministry of Magic expelling him from Hogwarts. Not that expulsion mattered much to him at this point. Professor Dumbledore had not sent word, and no Order member or Auror had arrived to scold him. And finally ending the inner debate about whether or not it was the wizard or the wand, and how he had gotten away with it and why or how in the name of whatever deity oversaw his life the ministry had been able to detect Dobby using magic and use that against him while he had just started a small fire in his room; he gave up, he didn't know and assumed that he wasn't going to find out.

Not being aware of the how or why was just fine with Harry though. If no one was willing to give him information, well then, he wasn't going to share information with anyone else. Harry pulled out his wand once again and opened 'The Duel and the Honor Code' and laid into it with as much intensity as possible.

**************************************************************

"Hermione, please, I'm begging you," Ron pleaded, trying to drag Hermione out of the library. "Come practice with Ginny and me."

"I'm busy Ron," Hermione said, not looking up from the tome that sat in her lap obscuring the better half of her upper torso.

"You've been reading that bloody thing for days," Ron countered, he knew that Hermione's track record for consuming a book was under forty-eight hours, and with nothing else to do at Sirius' place all she had done was read.

Hermione closed the book but held her page with a few of her fingers and looked Ron in the eye, "Look, I'm busy with this right now, so go fly with Ginny without me."

Ron stalked off, muttering loudly enough for Hermione to hear although she assumed she wasn't meant to hear what he said.

Ron always knew how to anger Hermione greatly these days, even if she was aware there were side-affects still lingering with him. It was almost Harry's birthday and he was the last of them to turn sixteen and she hoped that she would be able to present him with a gift that no one would be able to top. She still dreamt about that night at the ministry, particularly the look on Harry's face right before she was struck with that purple curse. Hermione hadn't told Ginny yet, but the way that the younger girl talked about Harry and his heroism made her think that she was on the same brain-wave as Ginny when it concerned Harry, though not as infatuated only with the image.

"Hermione!" Ginny called out before she turned the corner and entered the Black Family Library.

Hermione gave a fake smile, "I'm sorry, I'm really involved right now."

Ginny had a book of her own tucked under her arm 'Advanced Arithmancy: So You Want to Ace Your O.W.L.'s' and plopped down into an armchair across from Hermione.

This time Hermione gave Ginny a genuine smile when she saw that she was borrowing her O.W.L. preparatory text.

Ginny winked back at Hermione, "He's… "

Hermione had reopened her book and found where she had left off, only offering an, "mmhmm."

Ginny's smile turned to a frown when she heard faint traces of complete insouciance in Hermione's reply, but she didn't press and opened up the text to the introduction.

Ron crossed the double-door entrance to the Black Family Library and then doubled back with his Cleansweep in hand asking himself and the hallway, "Where'd Ginny go?"

A mirror that hung outside the entrance showed in his peripheral vision that there were two girls, not just one in the library and he looked extremely relieved to have found Ginny.

"Ginny, c'mon let's go," Ron sounded almost crazed.

Ginny flipped the page nonchalantly, "Can't, busy."

"You're both mad," Ron fumed, but both girls found his behaviour easily ignorable at the moment.

"Ron," Ginny called softly, setting the book down in her lap. "If you don't mind, this is a library and we're trying to read."

"GAH!" Ron shouted and hopped on his broom, flying out of the library and down the halls until he was in the back garden.

"Too easy," Ginny professed.

Ginny heard Hermione snort.

"OI!" Fred called out to Ron who was flying high over number 12 with the enhanced ability of a 'sonorous' charm.

Ron dived straight down, and at the very last second that he thought he was safe with, pulled the broom out of the dive and came to a halt in front of his two brothers. Both of whom were dressed as swish as they had been every day since he had gotten off the train.

"WE NEED…" Fred started and then covered his mouth with both his hands while George doubled over laughing and Ron covered both his ears and fell over his broom.

Fred pointed his wand at his throat and in a normal voice that was supposed to be a whisper incanted, "Quietus."

"Geez," Ron shouted, unable to hear the level of his voice properly, "trying to give me a heart-attack?"

"Mate," George began, throwing his arm around Ron's shoulder's which instantly put Ron on guard, "brains couldn't take you from us, what do you think that little beating lump inside your chest is gonna do?"

"Prat," Ron insulted, and tried to punch his brother in the stomach. "So what do you want?"

"What do you want?" George repeated disbelievingly.

"Automatically assumes we came to him because we want something, listen ickle-Ronnie, we've want for nothing now," Fred added, pulling at the gleaming red dragon hide vest he was sporting that would have made Charlie bonkers.

Ron was confused to say the least, Fred and George only ever came to him if they wanted something. More often than not it was to test something on him and that was something he wasn't too keen on at the moment.

"We came to ask you if you want a job," George stated when he saw that Ron wasn't going to speak.

Ron figured it out quickly, "Mum's been talking to you hasn't she? Told you to two to give me a job and keep me occupied, is that it?"

Not one to beat around the bush George started mournfully, "That's the short…"

"… and long of it, yeah," Fred finished cheerfully.

"C'mon, make your ol' mum proud and become a workin' man," Fred added seeing that Ron was about to decline.

George knew how to clench this deal and get their mum off of all their backs, "We'll pay you a handsome sum."

Ron's eyes lit up and Fred and George both knew they had him. He had wanted to buy something nice for Hermione for her upcoming birthday and now with a job where he was earning real money instead of just working for his brother's because they were family, he'd be able to afford something nice.

"I'm in," Ron thrust out his hand to shake on it.

Fred grabbed Ron's hand first and shook it rather vigorously, "Glad to have you on board, you start at five a.m. tomorrow."

Fred let go of Ron's hand, pleased with the shocked look in his eyes. His little brother hadn't seen that one coming.

"Spot-on, really spiffing to have you. Oh Fred, can you believe it, our little Ronnie is growing up so fast," George mimicked his mum.

Ron's mouth was still hanging open, he couldn't believe he was expected to be at the store in Diagon Alley at five in the morning, much less be awake any earlier to get ready to go to work. He'd been had, and he knew it and there was no getting out of it now.

George, not being able to resist, quickly delved into his pocket and retrieved a white hard-candy and expertly shot it into Ron's mouth.

Fred and George stayed around just long enough to watch Ron turn into a little fluffy white bunny rabbit.

Ginny came strolling into the back garden at just that moment with Hermione in tow, having heard the twins they had come to see what was new with them.

"Oh look Hermione," Ginny cooed. "It's a little bunny rabbit. Come here little one."

Fred and George shared a look, and then turned their heads in Hermione's direction to find her not only smiling but using her eyes to glare daggers at them at the same time. However much Hermione was about to rip into them though, they couldn't resist, "Ginny, that aint no ordinary bunny!"

Hermione broke down into a fit of laughter and Ginny turned to star at her like she was a complete loon.

Ron popped back into existence looking rather upset by Hermione's laughing.

"What!?" Ron shrieked, his voice not completely with returned proper.

Hermione pointed at Ron from on the ground where she was holding her sides from laughing so hard and managed to get out, "He's got huge, sharp... eh... he can leap about... look at the bones!"

Fred and George fell onto each other in howls of raucous laughter and Hermione was raised several notches in their estimation.

Ron and Ginny looked more confused than ever and in unison they asked, "What?"

Hermione managed to pick herself up off the lawn and brush the loose grass from her denims and t-shirt, "N-nothing, nothing at all."

Fred and George grinned at her and disapparated.

"What was all that about, Hermione?" Ginny asked, upset that her brothers had not let her in on the joke.

Hermione snorted, "A muggle film, nothing important."

Ron opened his mouth to say something, clearly still upset that he had been laughed at, but Hermione cut him off, "How's your training coming along."

Ron started to stammer, "Oh…er, it's coming along, uh… well."

"Well, alright," Hermione sighed. "Just curious to see how your progress was coming, and it seems that you're coming along well enough."

Hermione turned on her barefooted heel and went back into the house. She did not see Ron staring at her retreating form or Ginny shaking her head.

"I've got a job now," Ron said after a few seconds of silence and still Ginny had yet to say a word to him.

Ginny's eyes widened, "Not with the twins?"

"Spot-on," Ron deadpanned and touched his nose with his index finger.

"Oooh, you're so dead," Ginny teased.

Ron audibly gulped, "I know."

"This is mum's doing, isn't it, she wouldn't let it go that you've got nothing do with O.W.L.'s not being here yet?"

"It's not so bad, at least they'll be paying me," Ron assuaged himself.

"If Harry were here things would be different," Ginny added, thinking that if Harry were here there would be no need for Ron to be sulking all the time and her mum to be worrying her head off about her surrogate son.

"If Harry were here, you'd be following him around like a lost puppy," Ron mocked. "And Dobby would be following you around wiping up the drool."

Ginny jumped her brother, who was a good two and half feet taller than she was and wrestled him to the ground by the ear.

"Dear brother," Ginny said slowly to make her point, and twisted Ron's ear until he tapped the ground in defeat, "if I wanted Harry, he'd be mine."

Ginny got off her brother, but when he stood he was grinning from ear to ear.

Which of course only irritated her more, "What!?"

Ron's full out smile turned into a smirk of triumph, "Thanks for proving me right."

Ginny advanced on Ron again, ready to tear into him, but Ron barely escaped by hopping on his broom and flying away laughing the whole time.

"You have to come down sometime!" Ginny screamed, and stormed back into the house.

**************************************************************

Harry was alone in the smallest bedroom of number 4 Privet Drive, as usual. This evening however, after he had returned from his run he came up to the room with a glass of water in his hand and raised it in toast towards the stars.

"Happy Birthday, dad," Harry toasted, mostly to himself.

There wasn't a warm invisible touch that gripped his shoulder, or any sign of acknowledgement, and a part of him was upset that he had never done this before. He had stolen his birth certificate from his aunt Petunia's personal records to get himself a library card and found out his parents birthdays from the same tattered piece of paper that was crumpled.

He took a drink of the water, upset that he couldn't toast to his father with something more becoming, but it was all he had. Harry set the glass down on the desk in the bedroom and grabbed a change of clothes and went to take a shower.

The hot water washed away the sweat and blood, he had taken to using the parks' jungle gym for rudimentary training, he had managed to acquire in the process. He still couldn't believe that Remus hadn't returned yet, Professor Dumbledore was unwilling to answer his owl's and his friends hadn't written to him yet; although he was sure that that was something beyond their power. There had been no return post from the messages he had sent out to the same people he had asked about the books asking about free-lancers, but that had not discouraged him from self-instruction. He ran, he read all of his old text-books and new books, practicing what he thought was relevant and he worked out in Dudley's gym, which was starting to pay off a little as he no longer looked completely emaciated.

Harry returned to his room and threw himself onto his bed, not in the mood to study any more or write any more posts asking for help that he was sure was not coming; or, Professor Dumbledore was preventing from coming. He was the one losing faith in Professor Dumbledore now, it was no longer the other way around. And for the life of him he couldn't understand what he was still doing at number 4. He had thought that maybe this was all some lesson that would add up in the grand scheme to teach him patience and self-reliance but after realizing that eleven years of thinking that there wasn't any such thing as hope and being alone had taught him both self-reliance and patience he threw that rationalization for why he was still here... out the proverbial window. Blood protection was what Professor Dumbledore had explained to him, but it didn't make any sense to him. What difference did it make if he was protected by his mother's sacrifice here than if he was hidden by the fidelius somewhere else with a trustworthy secret keeper? Harry didn't understand and it was tearing him apart that he didn't have the answers and that no one was talking to him… again. He was about to go out of his way to cause trouble for the Dursley's so they would at least acknowledge him and give him something to do; no matter how meaningless a thing it was.

He put his confusion aside with the thought that his father would have been turning thirty six this evening, and his mother would be having her birthday before the year was done. Harry lost himself in dreams of what life would have been like if they had lived and were still a family. Would he have a brother, or a sister to look out for, or maybe both? Would his father have taught him how to be a chaser instead of a seeker? Would his mother have started his schooling early? Would they talk to him... about anything?

Harry had dozed off, only to wake himself up early the next morning; earlier than usual at three a.m. He had had enough and came to the conclusion that there wasn't anything keeping him here. His trunk was packed in record time thanks to a spell he learned from 'World Techniques Applied' and he cast a near weight-less charm so he wouldn't have to do magic outside of the house... that had been the only conclusion he could come to in order to discover how he was able to practice magic away from Hogwarts.

He told Hedwig where to meet him, transfigured her cage into a pocketknife and said good-bye to his bedroom.

The front door opened with the turn of the handle and Harry stepped out into the morning air, confident that an Order member would stop him. Harry stood on the front steps of his relatives home, waiting for an order member to take notice of him with his trunk and tell him to go back inside, but when there was no such order he started walking to the park where he summoned to Knight Bus and had Stan take him to number 3 Grimmauld Place in London.

Fifteen minutes later, the Knight Bus devoid of any other passengers at this early hour except for Harry, pulled to a stop in front of number 3 with as soft a bang as possible for the giant purple triple-decker.

Harry paid Stan the wage he owed and carried his own trunk off the bus. He stood on the curb waiting for the bus to disappear before he started walking towards number 12. The usual pitch black night had a subtle blue hue to it, which contrasted nicely with the brightness of the stars, and Harry found himself thinking of past astronomy lessons and naming the constellations. Then, Firenze came into his memory with his centaur reading of the stars and Harry started smirking before he realized he was standing in front of a completely materialized number 12.

There was a moment of hesitation when he thought of going into Sirius' old home, but he was a Gryffindor and he was already here; and there was definitely no way that he was going back to number 4 for a second time this summer. So, with his courage mustered and his mind prepared for the memory of Sirius to hit him like a lorry rounding the corner at thirty kilometers per hour, he turned the black-iron door handle and pushed the door open.

He breathed in deeply the scent of the Burrow, which was odd considering… and then he took a good look at his surroundings. Gone were the tattered and broken walls; they had been rebuilt and painted in a neutral white. The floor beneath his feet had been polished to a high shine and even the furniture that had once been like the hard leather furnishings of the Slytherin common room, had been replaced by comfortable accoutrements that reminded him of Gryffindor Tower's own.

Harry was jerked by the collar and thrown against the front door that had just closed behind him.

"Get off me," Harry said calmly to whoever still had a hold on him.

"How'd you get in here," a voice he did not recognize questioned, and he felt the tip of a wand press against the back of his neck.

"Through the front door," Harry answered mockingly.

The hand holding him by the collar pushed him forward and Harry whirled around with a swift fluid motion that brought his wand out and trained it on the invisible guard.

Wordlessly the invisibility cloak was lifted off the guard, and Harry thanked his reading when the guard foolishly tried to grab the cloak instead of keeping his wand trained on his target. Harry summoned the guards' wand to him and asked with both wands aimed properly, "Who are you?"

"Harry?" a concerned voice asked from the stairwell adjacent to where Harry was standing. "What are you doing here!?"

Harry didn't turn to look at who it was. He was just thankful that someone recognized him. He didn't think that he had changed that much in only a month.

"Why are you attacking Emma?" the female voice asked quickly coming closer.

Now Harry recognized the voice as belonging to Ginny, "She grabbed me first."

Emmeline smirked, and Harry blushed at feeling like a very young school child trying to place the blame on someone else.

Harry tossed Emma's wand back to her and she caught it with grace.

"Thanks," Emma greeted and stuck out her hand in greeting.

"Harry Potter," Harry shook her hand, happy that this order member didn't decide to act impressed.

Emma pulled Harry close to her by the handshake and Harry fought to maneuver out of the grip, but she was more skilled than he was, "a little notice next time, Mr. Potter?"

Ginny pulled Harry away from Emma, hoping to avoid the fight she saw was about to start in the foyer, "C'mon Harry."

Harry allowed himself to be led upstairs and into the second floor drawing room where the fire was still blazing in a manner only befitting a fire that had just been lit.

He disengaged himself from Ginny and took the nearest seat he could find to the fire, happy to be out of the cold morning air. His trunk landed with a thump next to his chair and Ginny sat on the sofa across from where he was sitting so they could talk.

"You going to tell me what you're doing here?" Ginny asked, trying to get a better look at Harry.

Harry smiled and turned to face her, "This place is better than the Dursley's."

Ginny gave Harry a lopsided grin that almost made him start to laugh, "So you left at three in the morning to come here?"

"Yep," Harry answered. "What are _you_ doing up this early?"

"Couldn't sleep," Ginny replied and broke eye contact to look into the fire.

"A bad one?" Harry asked.

"Not so much," Ginny answered, unaware that she had just said that. She hadn't answered anybody's questions about her nightmares. Not even Hermione who was the one to wake her usually.

"Did you know that it was my dad's birthday yesterday?" Harry asked to take her mind off of a subject he knew she wouldn't want to talk about.

Glad that he hadn't pressed Ginny shook her head, "No, sorry."

"It's alright, I didn't even know until last week when I found my birth-certificate," Harry told her.

Her own nightmare forgotten, she looked sadly at Harry and knew what he saw when he closed his eyes must be much worse. Harry caught her looking at him like that.

"Please don't," Harry said. "No comparisons… please."

Ginny looked back at the fire to keep her eyes from his.

"I should go," Harry whispered and stood up.

Ginny titled her head up to look at him properly and take in the changes he had made, "It's ok, you don't have to go."

It wasn't that he felt uncomfortable around Ginny, though he hardly knew her. He was just tired, "no, I'm actually pretty knackered. I think I'll just go and find my bed."

Returning her gaze to the fire, Ginny replied in a soft voice, "ok."

"Unless you want me to stay and keep you company," Harry offered, thinking it was the right thing to do and she would decline and tell him to just go to bed.

"I could really use the company," Ginny said quickly before she could keep herself from saying it.

Harry concealed his sigh well enough for her not to notice and sat at the opposite end of the sofa she was on. The afghan tossed over the back of the sofa caught his eye and he pulled it down over him and toed off his shoes.

"Thanks for staying," Ginny muttered, but still didn't look at him.

"Anything you want to talk about?" Harry asked, hoping that all she wanted was to sit in companionable silence.

Ginny drew in a deep breath and let it out, confusing Harry as to whether that was a yes or a no or she thought he was too dense to get it.

"Or would you rather just have a shoulder to lean on," Harry inquired with a cheerful grin to try and bring her out of her melancholy state.

Ginny didn't answer but she slid down the couch next to him and rested her head on his shoulder, then pulled the afghan over herself as well.

Harry's mind shot off like his Firebolt, firing a thousand questions a minute in his direction and he felt more lost than he had ever felt before. His instinct told him to wrap his arms around her, but his mind told him not to, otherwise he'd give her the wrong impression; not to mention if her brothers happened to walk in at that particular moment if he did decide to put his arm around her.

"Thank you," Ginny whispered. "This is nice."

Harry tried desperately to think of something calming to say but he ended up blundering it with, "Um, yeah, it is."

He felt Ginny go slack against him and he thought that she had fallen asleep, but when he tried to get up to leave her arms wrapped around his torso and refused to let go of him.

Harry wondered if he should risk using magic and seal the doors so Ron and his brothers wouldn't find them like this. He succumbed to his fate though and leaned back against the sofa and fell asleep with his head tossed back over the top of the sofa.


	4. Opinions

**THE FOLLY OF IGNORANCE:**

"Good morning," Professor Dumbledore quietly greeted Harry.

Harry came to and extricated himself from the sleeping redhead at his side. He counted himself lucky that it was Professor Dumbledore and not one of the twins, or worse, Ron that found him sleeping next to their only sister.

Without a word he followed Professor Dumbledore's 'come hither' gesture and left the sitting room behind. Eventually they made it to the kitchen of Sirius' home, but not without hearty hellos and suspicious glances being thrown around by all the Order members present on this morning.

Professor Dumbledore took a seat at the kitchen table and opened both of his hands in an effort to let Harry know that he had the floor.

The incessant twinkling in his headmaster's eyes was starting to annoy Harry.

Harry put a hand behind his head and ran his fingers through his sleep-disheveled hair while he thought of what he was going to use as leverage to stay. Truthfully, he had no inclination to stay at Grimmauld Place, but anything was better than the Dursley's and this happened to be where all the information was. Professor Dumbledore waited calmly for Harry to begin and conjured them both a cup of breakfast tea; he amused himself by wondering where Molly was and why breakfast wasn't in full swing.

"I don't want to go back to the Dursley's," Harry said simply, purposely dropping the childishly obligatory 'and you can't make me'.

Professor Dumbledore remained silent for a reason Harry couldn't fathom; as what he had just said pretty much covered everything. He slowly moved his hands in a deceptive manner to reach his tea and to observe what Harry's reaction would be. Albus Dumbledore was not at all surprised to see the boy instantly go for his own wand.

"Well then," the older wizard began and noted that Harry didn't drop his guard, "plans proceed as they were."

Harry's eyebrows came together in a curious fashion.

Professor Dumbledore finished his tea before satisfying Harry's burning curiosity, "You were to be picked up this afternoon and relocated to a secondary secure location, however, your intervention has progressed the events of the day by no more than a few hours. Thus, plans proceed as previously arranged."

There was an amused lilt in the headmaster's voice and Harry was dumbfounded to know that he would have been away from the Dursley's today... so, he eloquently replied, "huh?"

"Miss Granger and her parents have been so kind as to extend their hospitality to you for the remainder of your holiday," Professor Dumbledore explained partially; Harry didn't need to know the full reasons for the Granger's taking him in.

Harry drained his tea in one shot, "Why the Granger's? Why not the Burrow with the Weasley's?"

Before Professor Dumbledore could respond Harry decided to cut him off, "do I want to know?"

"I presumed not," Professor Dumbledore answered, interested in Harry's new thought process.

Harry's small mug refilled itself and he idly turned it around in his palms, "so, why the Granger's? Bit of a risk with them being muggles, isn't it?"

"I imagined you would have preferred to be much closer to the stadium, Harry," Professor Dumbledore replied, masking his confusion.

"What stadium?" Harry asked, and leaned back on the stool he was seated on.

There was something afoot and both of them knew that neither was fully aware of what exactly that 'something' happened to be. Harry wore his confusion on his face for all to see, though he did his best to try and appear as affable as the man seated across from him. Professor Dumbledore on the other hand hid his fear and his anger at missing something; so well so, that when Molly finally did enter the kitchen she thought she walked in on a pleasant conversation.

"If you'll excuse me, Harry, Molly," Professor Dumbledore excused with a nod to each of them and swept out of the kitchen far quicker than a man his age should have been able to move.

Harry repeated his question at a louder level to Professor Dumbledore's disappearing presence, "What stadium?"

Molly Weasley looked back and forth between the swinging door of the kitchen Albus had just left through, and a worried Harry Potter sitting at the breakfast table.

"Do you know what he's talking about, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked, finally taking note that she was in the room and bustling about.

"About what, dear?" Molly asked in return, casting numerous charms around the kitchen to get the first meal of the day started.

Harry frowned and turned away from Mrs. Weasley muttering, "something about a stadium?"

Molly was cracking eggs by hand over the charmed heated skillet when she answered absently, "he must have been talking about your invitation to the tryouts for the England team. Ron's been in a right state about it, when he's here that is, 'Harry's so lucky, Harry'll cream Vicky'. You really should talk to him when he gets home from work, he'll be so glad to see you..."

Harry interrupted Mrs. Weasley's explanation of Ron's enthusiasm for him, "what invitation?"

"The one," Mrs. Weasley began and turned away from the stove to look at Harry, "... you really don't know, do you?"

Harry shook his head. Hadn't he gotten that across when he kept asking questions?

"But you received the letter," Mrs. Weasley told him.

"What letter?" Harry asked, growing increasingly incensed that the Order had seriously buggered up his mail. "I haven't received any post about Quidditch (as he assumed this was all in regards to when Mrs. Weasley mentioned Ron and Victor Krum in the same sentence) other than Ron's blip about a friendly."

"Harry, dear, don't play games," Mrs. Weasley chided and received a baleful glare from the young man opposite her. "The Order passed on your mail after they cleared it, you must have received it."

Harry got up from his seat and stormed out of the kitchen ignoring Mrs. Weasley's words. There was definitely something going on that just wasn't right.

'_If Professor Dumbledore just found out that I didn't know, then someone else is messing with the post... shite, Voldemort!'_ Harry deduced.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled from the stairs.

Harry ceased his march to turn and see who had called out to him this time. He was surprised to see it was Hermione descending the stairs this time.

"You're here early," she told him, "we won't be leaving for another few hours yet."

"Yeah, I uhm, er...," Harry replied, not really wanting to talk to Hermione and wanting to find Professor Dumbledore. "Listen, have you seen Professor Dumbledore?"

Hermione eyed Harry queerly, "no."

"Bugger," Harry cursed.

"Mr. Potter," a silky voice hissed in an all too familiar tone.

Harry spun on the spot and swung a right hook in the direction of the voice. Severus caught his fist but did not anticipate the front kick that followed and doubled over from the force of the blow.

Harry followed up with his left fist connecting with Snape's right cheek and knocking the man to the floor.

Severus rolled away from where he was knocked to the ground, avoiding a foot that was intent on stomping his chest in. He drew his wand while in the roll and brought himself to his feet with little effort and feigned grace.

Harry already had his wand drawn and was waiting for Snape to make his move. He wanted to enjoy beating this man... enjoy repaying the pain. He wanted to exercise every ounce of rage he felt at the thought of the consequence his... lack... of action had caused.

Neither Harry nor Severus spoke a word as they launched into their impromptu duel with such loathing for the other that Hermione could almost feel it herself.

In the space of time that seemed like an eternity where Hermione stood watching her friend and her Potions Master duel, but what truly only a tenth of a minute, she was unnaturally dumbfounded. Then, when her senses returned to her she took the initiative and pushed Harry to the ground when he was focused on Professor Snape and nothing else.

"HARRY! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? YOU'LL BE EXPELLED!" Hermione shouted, and gave her Potions Master a gaping opening.

Truly, Severus was quite impressed with the whelps new found appreciation for dueling; and quite enjoyed dragging out the menial duel to see what Potter had learned. There were several points where he could have ended this tiff, but he could use this encounter to his advantage at a more convenient time.

Harry's attention was diverted only for a split second onto Hermione and her scream about his expulsion. In that split second, Snape was able to disarm him and had him hanging in the air upside down by the foot as if on some invisible hook.

Severus was near panting when he approached the two children, "Indeed you will be, Mr. Potter."

"Put me down, Snivellus," Harry demanded simply.

Hermione watched the dialogue in what she could only think of as insane shock. She was absolutely sure that Harry had gone mad; he had used magic outside of Hogwarts while he was still underage and attacked a member of that same school's staff... Voldemort must have possessed him.

"Professor," Hermione spoke up, "he might be..."

Severus kept careful aim on Harry's upper torso with his wand and cut Hermione's excuse off, "he... is not possessed by the Dark Lord."

"But Professor, why would he...," Hermione began to question and she saw Professor Snape take his eyes off of Harry, sure that he wasn't going anywhere.

Harry reached up with his hands, grabbed his foot that was suspended in the air, spun his body around and lunged for Snape. His fingertips had grazed the man's robes when Professor Dumbledore had coincidentally turned down this hallway.

Professor Dumbledore had him frozen in midair and yet the look of horror on Snape's face when he turned back to see what had happened was worth the further suspension of conflict.

Severus backed away from Harry, convinced now that the boy was indeed possessed if he could break that spell and... look as he did now.

Harry's face was contorted in raw anger. His rage was all too visible for his headmaster, his Potions Master and his friend to see. It was with great effort that he turned his head to the left to face his headmaster, "release me."

Professor Dumbledore kept his wand trained on Harry and held him suspended in mid-air. He was astounded that Harry had even been able to turn his head, let alone speak, as there was only one way to work around the spell being used against him. And, seeing as how the spell being used on Harry was developed by Nicolas and himself there was no way for Harry to know how to counter the magic being used against him.

"RELEASE ME!" Harry roared and turned to face Snape again, desperately trying to get to the man who took away his godfather.

"Not until you calm yourself," Professor Dumbledore tranquilly ordered.

Hermione back up against the wall and bumped into a table. This was something she had never thought she would see. Harry was... Harry was fighting Professor Dumbledore's magic. She could see her headmaster's forehead beginning to bead with sweat... and that, she thought, was oddly remarkably fascinating.

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore called out to the man, "I suggest you return to the castle."

Severus nodded, but before he left he strode up to where Potter was suspended and looked him in the eye, "This isn't finished, Potter."

Harry's rage overcame him and his right hand started to move slowly against the magic binding him to grasp the man's neck and throttle the life out of him.

Severus schooled his expression, snorted at Potter and made his exit. This had been... enlightening from his perspective.

"Let me go, Professor," Harry called to his headmaster after several minutes of waiting to be released. Whatever it was that fueled him to fight against Professor Dumbledore's magic was now gone.

Professor Dumbledore, after ensuring that Severus was out of Grimmauld Place, finally lowered his wand and let Harry down. Harry tucked his right shoulder in and rolled into his fall and into a standing position.

Hermione rushed to Harry and dusted off his shoulders, though there was no dust. Her eyes asked volumes of questions and secretly she was overjoyed at the prospect of the research this would amount to. Instead of voicing her questions aloud though, Professor Dumbledore escorted Harry away so that they could discuss the events that had just transpired.

In the library of 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore sat across from one another for a second time that day. This time however, they each wanted the other to begin.

"I," they both said at the same time and then gestured identically for the other to say his piece.

Harry sighed and said, "bollocks! What's going on with me?"

"I do not know, Harry," Professor Dumbledore answered honestly, although he had a suspicion he didn't share. "Would you care to explain why you attacked a senior member of the Hogwarts staff?"

The look Harry gave Albus said it all.

"Would you care to explain your theory about who was acting secondary monitor on my post?" Harry mocked.

Professor Dumbledore ignored his tone, "I am glad to hear you have come to the same conclusion I have. Tell me, Harry, what do I not know?"

Harry leaned back in the leather wing back chair and tented his fingers, "What... do you know?"

Professor Dumbledore mimicked his motions, "It is not proper to answer a question with another question, Mr. Potter."

"You're joking right?" Harry asked with a small snort of derision. "You do it all the time."

"I," Professor Dumbledore started, "I suppose you are correct."

"The question still stands professor," Harry said, "I can't tell you what you don't know without you telling me what you do know."

"You could always allow me access into...," Professor Dumbledore alluded.

"You could certainly try," Harry challenged.

"My boy, that is a substantial implication you've just made?" Professor Dumbledore stated. He had held the belief from his previous encounters with the boy that Severus had done more harm that good.

With equanimity, Harry played an angle he knew well enough not to be become entangled in and answered, "that man taught me nothing."

Harry said no more on the matter and was proud for not giving away too much and interested that Professor Dumbledore hadn't already tried to invade his thoughts and memories. Or had he? The growing suspicion that he would be unable to tell if a true master was intent on gaining clandestine entry into his mind almost completely diverted his attention to that matter.

"So what about this invitation?" Harry inquired, skirting the real issue.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Bagman is most intent on having you play for the national team," Professor Dumbledore answered, a twinkle in his right eye.

"Then, someone didn't want me to play?" Harry asked himself more than Professor Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore made himself a part of Harry's personal dialogue, "Or they did not want you to be aware at all."

"Why would they want that?" Harry asked, trying to come up with his own answer before Professor Dumbledore supplied him with the one he had no doubt already found.

"I do not know," Professor Dumbledore shocked Harry.

"This ties in with the magic somehow," Harry added, thinking of his actual use rather than the remarkable things he had done with it so far this summer.

Professor Dumbledore incorrectly assumed that Harry was referring to his ability to do things with magic that no normal witch or wizard was capable of.

"Possibly," Professor Dumbledore agreed vocally with Harry.

Harry assumed that Professor Dumbledore knew about his use of magic while at number 4 and when he agreed it only served to solidify that assumption as belief.

"That still leaves us without the why," Harry summarized.

"And without the who as well," Professor Dumbledore reminded him.

"Oh, yeah, right," Harry agreed, though he was pretty sure he knew who was behind this, and that Professor Dumbledore thought along the same lines.

"The Granger's then?" Harry asked, seeking to put a close to this conversation as it was all basic extrapolation and nothing solid or Professor Dumbledore was unwilling to share any substantial evidence for him to work with.

"Yes, Harry, the Granger's," Professor Dumbledore repeated.

"Where do they live?" Harry interrogated further.

Professor Dumbledore stood from his seat, "Chelsea."

Harry remained seated, he had a lot to think about just now.

Professor Dumbledore was at the entrance to the library when Harry called out, "Thanks, professor."

"Whatever for, Mr. Potter?" Professor Dumbledore wondered and turned away from the doors.

"For not, you know," Harry said and tapped his head with his fingers, "barging in."

"Not all, Mr. Potter," Professor Dumbledore bowed and swept out of the library with his majestic blue robes billowing behind him. No one knew just how enraged he was with the turn of events.

A tentative knock came from the door to the library where Harry was still seated several hours later. He had come up with a possible explanation of why someone had done what they had done while he was at number 4, but he was unsure as to whether he was grasping at straws and thought he should ask Professor Dumbledore for his opinion.

The knock roused Harry from his thoughts and he saw Hermione coming in to the library. Her trunk was just past the threshold with his and he assumed that it was time to go.

"Ready?" Harry asked before Hermione could.

"Yeah, it'll be nice to go home," Hermione explained and Harry followed her to her trunk where he decided in an act of chivalry to carry it for her.

"Why thank you, good sir," Hermione mimicked an Elizabethan accent and tilted her head ever so slightly. "I'm afraid I have no token for you."

"No worries, madam," Harry replied and wrapped his arm around Hermione's waist, "I'll just take you."

Hermione and Harry laughed their way down the stairs to the front entrance of number 12 Grimmauld Place to find Tonks, Emma and Dedalus waiting for them. They assumed this was the Order escort to take them to Hermione's home in upper Chelsea.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted and lightly punched him in the shoulder. "You ready to go?"

Harry turned around and faced the stairs and pointed his wand in the direction of the sitting room he had slept in this morning, "accio trunk."

Hermione grabbed his forearm and pushed it down to his side, "Harry, you can't do magic outside of..."

Harry's trunk glided down the stairs and came to a rest at his side, "Yep, ready to go."

He flashed Hermione a cheeky grin, "I'll tell you later."

Harry interpreted the glare Hermione shot him as, 'you'd better.'

"Right, then," Dedalus broke in, "disillusionments all around."

Tonks however morphed into Hermione and out of nowhere a Harry Potter look alike appeared from around the corner and followed Tonks out the front door.

"Decoys?" Harry asked Emma.

Emma only nodded and disillusioned herself with a tap of the wand on the crown of her head.

Dedalus disillusioned Hermione and when he came to Harry he found the boy had already hidden himself.

Harry shrugged, but the effect was lost on everyone, "I found something that worked better."

"I've seen Mad-Eye use something similar before, I have," Dedalus said, suppressing how much he was impressed.

"Let's go," Emma ordered and Harry and Hermione made for the door.

An invisible hand stopped them from leaving though, "hold on a moment, where do you two think you're going?"

"Outside?" Harry and Hermione said speculatively.

"And just what in the name of Merlin's beard are you gonna do to get to Chelsea once you're out there for the Death Eaters to take pot shots at ya'?" Emma asked.

"Right," Harry said, trying to hide the fact that he hadn't thought that far ahead and made a quick assumption, "portkey it is?"

"Not the quickest, but he gets there," Emma joked of Harry, and Hermione was silently berating herself.

A trophy was picked up off the table in the foyer and hovered in midair where Dedalus was holding on, "Everybody grab a'hold."

Harry and Hermione didn't see Dedalus watching the clock above the door while he counted, "three.. two... one..."

That familiar sickening feeling of being hooked behind the navel took root in Harry's center and yanked him away from downtown London and all the way to posh-side Chelsea.

Harry landed on his bum and alongside a warm body he believed to be Hermione's. Her breath on his neck was to say the least... distracting.

"Stay hidden until we sweep the place," Dedalus instructed at a whisper.

"Harry?" Hermione asked against his neck, and placed her palm on his chest for further confirmation.

Shivers ran up Harry's spine at the sensation caused by Hermione breathing on him like that. He wondered why he hadn't ever felt something like this with Cho and why... for his first time, it had to be with his best friend.

"Yeah." Harry confirmed.

Hermione's palm slid across his chest and came to a rest on his right shoulder, "just checking."

'_Keep checking,'_ Harry wanted to say.

"ALL CLEAR!" Dedalus shouted from upstairs at the same moment that Emma completed her sweep of the ground floor.

"Bloody idiot," Harry and Hermione heard Emma curse under her breath and lift her own disillusionment.

Harry reappeared and pulled an invisible Hermione to her feet where Emma cancelled her disillusionment charm.

Dedalus came trudging down the stairs, "Right nice place you have here Miss Granger."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, wondering when her parents would be closing up the surgery and returning home.

"Where are your parents?" Harry asked, looking around and taking stock of Hermione's living room.

"At work," Hermione answered.

"You kid's going to be alright?" Emma asked.

"You bet," Harry said, knowing that they weren't really going to leave them without supervision.

"Right, well, we'll be on post," Dedalus informed Harry and Hermione, and he and Emma went their separate ways to secure the house from the outside.

"This isn't Professor Dumbledore's brightest idea," Harry announced, walking around the living room and getting a feel for the home.

Hermione smiled, glad that Harry wasn't being thick and concentrating solely on Quidditch. "What do you think he's up to?"

"Probably trying to flush someone out," Harry answered absently, more interested in the books the Granger's had amassed on display than what Professor Dumbledore was trying to accomplish by using him and the Granger clan for bait.

"That sounds dreadfully callous, Harry," Hermione chided.

"I know," Harry replied in a singsong tone.

Hermione was definitely worried about Harry's state of mind now. He was no boy and he was no man, but he was something else entirely now. She wasn't sure that she liked who he was like this.

"Where do I sleep?" Harry asked, his mind on other things than Hermione's worries.

*******************************************************************************

"Welcome," the cheerful witch greeted and held out her hand, "passes, please."

Hermione handed the ticket witch two passes and she and her father walked through the turnstile, and waited for Harry to join them.

Harry shifted his weight on either foot nervously and looked over his shoulder to where he knew an Order member was standing guard under some spell designed to hide them from sight. He wasn't sure exactly where he was supposed to go or what he was supposed to.

"Er... I'm here for the tryouts," he said to the ticket-collecting witch.

"Tryouts?" she asked confused and then smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry dear, but tryouts were a month past."

He dug around in his bag for the letter Ron had made a copy of for him, "Ludo Bagman told me to be here this morning."

"Did you say Mr. Bagman? Mr. Ludo Bagman?" she looked at him even more perplexed now; until, recognition dawned in her eyes and she exclaimed, "You're Harry Potter!"

"Yeah, I am," he confirmed quietly.

Harry looked around, hoping no one heard her. Mr. Granger had an incredulous look on his face, as if suddenly realizing that Harry was some sort of celebrity when he had been the one to ask Harry personally about all of his exploits.

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry about this. Right you are, right you are," she apologized, her eyes flicking upwards for a brief glimpse at the scar hiding behind his fringe. "This way, please."

The ticket witch abandoned her post and motioned for Harry to follow. As he followed her, he paused and waved at Hermione and her father.

"I'll see you afterwards!" he called out.

"Good luck, Harry!" cried Hermione with a tad more enthusiasm than was necessary.

Her father smiled inwardly and Hermione checked herself, looking around a bit self-consciously.

Harry was taken through a door that the stadium used for the home team's dressing rooms. As he entered nervously, he realized he was late. The coaching staff, Quidditch players and in the centre drawing most of the attention, Ludo Bagman stood, and they were all staring at him.

"Ah, there ye are!" Ludo beamed, clapping him on the shoulder. "We were waiting a bit for you to come. Only a few minutes though."

"Ahem," Bagman grunted, drawing the attention of all the players whispering behind their hands. "Well, you know why we're gathered. Some of you have featured throughout last year and are now settled in. The rest of you, however," he glanced at Harry and a few other players new to the line-up, "need to pay close attention. This is our first friendly of the season and we need to rally the support of our fans for the match against Krum and Bulgaria."

Harry snorted at the name. He smiled instantly after though, remembering that little crack at the end of Ron's letter when he called him 'Vicky'.

"We'll do a few basic warm ups, some formation flying and a little of getting familiar with the stadium and conditions. For those newcomers, I'm sure you'll fit in smoothly." Ludo informed them all and winked at Harry. "What we're really here for is to win the crowd and their support... and also a bit of advertising and ticket sales won't hurt either. As you know, we'll be playing against the Cannons today..."

There was now a buzz going around the room and Harry's eyed widened.

"There will be two halves basically. We'll put on the starting line-up for the Bulgaria match first, and that'll be: Wood in goal, Jackson and Briggs beaters, Gareth, Charles and Rooney are the chasers and Cantonma is seeker in absence of Hortone," Ludo paused and made sure everyone was there and accounted for.

"We have unlimited substitutions and may introduce the reserves. We'll then play the Cannons reserves with our reserves and see how things work."

Ludo stopped talking and took his time just staring at the lot of them. "Well? What are you blokes still gaping around for? Get your sorry arses out there!"

They grabbed their training kit robes and donned them as they ran through the corridors, making sure they had their gear ready as they congregated at the players' exit to the pitch.

Harry gasped at the gigantic expanse of the stadium. The seats rose stories high into the air and there was a respectable amount of spectators filling them. It was nowhere near full, but the people present still made the Hogwarts crowd look relatively small by comparison.

The players walked onto the field, and all of them waved to the fans; with the exception of Harry, who was still too dumbstruck to move. There was a polite applause ringing around the stadium, and the flashes of numerous omnioculars capturing the moment. He finally caught himself and gave a half-hearted wave to the people in the east stands.

"OI! Potter!" Oliver Wood called out to Harry for him to wait up. "Hey, Harry. It'll be like old times, eh?"

"Yeah, if I get to play," Harry admitted with a shrug.

"Bloody hell mate, Bagman knows you're better than Cantonma but can't just replace him. You just do what you do best and I bet you ten galleons you're on the squad," Oliver grinned at him and ran down to meet the others.

Heartened by that pep talk, Harry walked to the dugout and took his spot next to Morrison on the bench. The drums and horns were now picking up a rhythm in the crowd. The chanting rose to a crescendo at the sound of the referee's whistle signaling the start of the match.

"And theyyyrrrre off! Cannons in possession!" Bagman's voice carried over the crowd from the commentators' booth. "Hurley, to Hughes, now to Thompson. Tricky piece of skill there by Thompson, who narrowly misses that bludger. Passes to Kingsley, no... intercepted by Gareth! England in Possession!"

And so it went, Cannons eventually getting 120 points to England's 90 at the end of the first half of the match.

"England substitutes; Morrison and Gramble on for Briggs and Gareth," the second commentator the match called out.

The snitch was exceptionally fast and Harry only spotted it twice before it darted behind some player, and then out of his line of sight. Their coach approached the team, a marker board in his hands and an unreadable expression on his face.

"Alright lads, the defensive work needs some tuning, but we'll be ready for Bulgaria for sure with some more practice. Okay, it's now Forrester in goal, Morrison, Nickolai as beaters, Chane, Gramble and Jemson chasers and we'll keep Cantonma for now. Now show those Irishmen what England's made of!"

Harry joined Wood on the bench, feeling disappointed. He had hoped his chance would come before the Cannons' seeker got the snitch. But the way Cantonma was flying it would take forever for him to find it.

"Don't fret, Harry. You'll come on any time now," Oliver said. But ten minutes later it seemed that coach Ryan wasn't having any intentions to follow that part of the plan.

"Chane! Forrester!" coach summoned them imperiously after calling for substitutions. "What are you doing? Letting them win? Forrester, that's eight unanswered they've gotten behind you! You see that score line? What does it say?"

Forrester opened his mouth, but wasn't even allowed to retort.

"It says 200 to 90! Wood, get in there! Gareth! Where's Gareth!" the coach bellowed and Gareth stood up from the bench. "Replace Chane!"

Coach looked at her and sneered, "What we do not need right now is another pretty face!"

Chane looked absolutely destroyed, her face already setting up for the torrents.

"Seems that Gareth and Wood are back on the pitch with Chane and Forrester out...," Bagman announced. "Cannons once again on the attack... great save by Wood! Quick release now on to Jemson, gives to Gramble... GRAMBLE SCORES!"

Harry was fascinated. The Cannons had already analyzed the basic strengths and weaknesses of his inexperienced squad and were taking full advantage. Wood was under constant pressure and once again the Cannons were dominating the match.

"Excellent! Once again from Wood! That's four consecutive saves! How long can it last?!" screamed Ludo.

As he said it the Cannons scored twice in succession, putting the score now at 220 to 100.

Harry knew that unless something drastic happened The Cannons were going to win and he wasn't even going to feature. At that second, something flew past his field of vision. It was the snitch! It zoomed some ten feet off the pitch and Cantonma and Kelly were furiously battling each other for an advantage in the sprint to catch it. They were flying very low, jostling each other shoulder-to-shoulder. Cantonma, lacking some of the experience of his opponent, lapsed in concentration and a bludger aimed for him, hit him square on the back pitching him forward and forcing him into a few spectacular tumbles before coming to a painful halt on the pitch. The crowd moaned in concern and sympathy. The referee blew his whistle to stop play and the medi-wizards apparated onto the pitch to take Cantonma off for treatment. Then the referee signaled to Coach Ryan for a substitution.

"Potter, you're on. Get me that snitch!" Coach Ryan bellowed, not taking his eyes off of Cantonma as he was carried away.

Harry nodded grimly, "I will."

"Injury to Cantonma. Substitution: Potter," announced Bagman.

The crowd was still preoccupied with news of the injury that the announcement went unnoticed. England and The Cannons took positions again, and the referee restarted the play with another throw of the quaffle. Harry was finally in his element, and the wind blew his hair in waves away from his face.

"The Cannons once again in possession... It's McKinnon one on one with Wood! Great reflex save! Oh wait, Keane recovers the quaffle... and finishes! 230 to 100!"

Harry looked down at his skipper from his observational flying altitude; Oliver's face flushed red with embarrassment.

'_Keep it together, Ollie,' _Harry silently willed_._

"Jemson with the quaffle... he's streaking down the middle... wait... Kelly has burst forward. Has he…? YES! He's seen the snitch!" Ludo roared over the speaker system.

Harry saw it as well as it streaked between him and Kelly. His opponent had an obvious head start so he accelerated insanely, weaving through the players with his eyes trained on the golden target. He was closing the distance to the snitch, but Kelly had the better angle and faster trajectory. Harry angled himself to get the fastest line only to realize that if they continued on this direction, they would collide head on. He bent over even lower unto his Firebolt and pushed it as fast as he could go... daring his opponent to back off. Kelly, the more experienced payer did not falter nor sway and continued steadily on.

Two blurs, one of red and the other golden orange, arrived at the snitch at the same time. They both catapulted forwards off their broomsticks after the seemingly disastrous collision and each player landed hard on the pitch, rolling and tumbling a few times before coming to their painful stop fifty meters apart.

The referee blew his whistle... the snitch was no longer in play!

"DID YOU SEE THAT? AMAZING! LET'S VIEW THE REPLAY!" cheered Bagman, jumping up and down in the announcer's booth.

The muggle advertising board enchanted to show the score morphed to play a slow motion breakdown of the collision.

"It seems that Kelly was about ten feet away from the snitch when Potter... what is that?" Ludo asked himself and the crowd as they tried to figure out what Harry had done. "He hooked his right foot on the underside of the broom, braced his left on the tail and simultaneously angled the nose to a sharp angle downwards, propelling him forward through the air... ah, yes... we can see very clearly the collision shortly afterwards."

At the moment of collision replay, the crowd groaned in pity.

Harry couldn't breathe. His head was spinning and it felt as if one of his legs was broken. He squinted against the midday sun, spitting out some blood from his bleeding lip. The sun was directly overhead now, and it burned his eyes to open them. But he felt it in his

grasp. Knowing that he was triumphant fuelled him.

Slowly and unsteadily, he got to his feet. Almost topping backwards, he sucked in his breath and punched his right fist into the air with the snitch gleaming in the sun. The crowd went berserk as he cried out in victory. The slow motion highlight reel on the big screen provided an impressive backdrop of the events happening in real time. The replay zoomed in on his face, a fierce battle cry emanating from the newborn Quidditch warrior.

"POTTER HAS DONE IT! IT'S ALL OVER! IT'S ALL OVER!" Ludo crowed. "ENGLAND DO IT AT THE DEATH TO WIN 230 TO 250! WHAT A PLAY!"

Harry finally tumbled backwards, and landed flat on his back on the soft grass. He basked in the moment, his limbs extended in a large X. The next thing he knew there was a mass of black hair blocking his vision and some beautiful bird was flush on top of him and screaming in his face.

"Harry you did it. We won!" she congratulated loudly.

He grinned stupidly, savoring the sensation of the snitch still in his grasp. She swooped down on him and snogged him right there in the grass, all encompassing and wet. He was stunned... too surprised to even break the kiss. She drew back, her hands framing his face.

She smiled tenderly at him, gave him a mock cuff on his chin, then jumped off and allowed him to be carried away by the English players. He was being slapped hard on the back, his messy his hair being ruffled by numerous hands and he wished they would stop hitting him on the shoulder; which was hurting badly now from the fall. As they walked off the pitch, Harry reflexively looked up to the right of the tunnel. Hermione and Ron were glaring at him with stony expressions on their faces. He did not get a chance to talk to them since he was being dragged along to the dressing rooms. Hermione waited until Harry disappeared to really let loose.

"Ron! Can you believe him? Kissing that Chane strumpet in front of all these people!" Hermione screeched.

"Who wouldn't?" Ron asked dumbly. "She's hot!"

This seemed to infuriate Hermione even more.

"What I don't understand firstly, is why is he staying with you and secondly, playing for England against The Cannons? The Cannons, Hermione! He ruddy well knows they're my favourite team; look I even brought the Cap he gave me!" Ron ranted. "He's supposed to be my best friend, not a supporter of the enemy!"

"Let's find him," Hermione suggested.

"Good idea," Ron seconded and they set off together to find their best friend. Both of them left behind Mr. Granger, who was engaged in a deep conversation regarding how the game functioned with a fellow muggle-parent couple.

Harry was gearing down in the dressing room. There was a stupid grin on each of the player's faces, all except Harry.

He was pondering on why his best friends had looked like they wanted him to crash into the pitch for a second time. This thought had his line of sight focused on a spot on the clubhouse floor.

"...at that time tomorrow. Right, Potter? POTTER!" a voice boomed and finally got through to Harry.

"Huh? What?" Harry asked and finished taking off his boot.

"I said we'd have a closed practice tomorrow at eight a.m. We're going to do some reshuffling and reorganize our strategy. We've got... let's see, around a month and a half to get it right. So, from tomorrow, every Monday, Thursday and Saturday we have training. You want a spot on this team then you better be there. And that goes for everyone!" Bagman announced and reached for the handle to the door. "Oh, and guys and gals, there may be reporters for _The Prophet_ waiting for you. I advise you to avoid them, however, if you do answer them, don't embarrass us."

Ludo left with a parting glare of warning.

Harry was fed up of hearing of himself in the papers. Someone had leaked about what had happened in the Department of Mysteries and now there was rampant speculation about what the prophecy was that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Name wanted and what it had to do with Harry Potter; they had even started to call him 'The Chosen One' of all things.

In the showers he let the warm water ease his aching shoulder and knee. His blasted shoulder was starting to really bother him and unfortunately he didn't know any spells that would heal an injury like the ones he had just acquired. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he felt all the pains from that fall catching up with him and his body felt battered. He wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the now empty locker room and opened his gym bag He put on a pair of denims Hermione and her mum had bought for him and t-shirt.

There was a soft knock on the door and thinking it was Oliver and another one of his post match analyses, he called out, "Yeah, it's open."

"THERE YOU ARE, HARRY! You've got some answers to cough up mate," Ron bellowed as he came steaming into the locker room. "You've got Errol completely burnt out on the hunt for you and then today, TODAY, I find out you're staying with Hermione for whatever barmy reason Dumbledore has cocked up! AND WHY DID YOU FORGET TO MENTION A LITTLE THING TO ME ABOUT PLAYING FOR BLOODY ENGLAND! FRED AND GEORGE DIDN'T MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT A NATIONAL TEAM!"

Harry stood stock-still and took in both appearances on his best friends faces. He wasn't sure that Ron was done ranting and Hermione was looking positively livid... he didn't know what to say.

"I believe you owe me an explanation," Ron declared and turned to look at Hermione. "Right, Hermione?"

"Hermione?" Ron enquired when Hermione failed to back him up.

Hermione however, had not been listening to Ron's rant. She had her attention focused solely on Harry and his openly gaping mouth trying desperately to form a response to Ron.

Ron waved his hands in front of Hermione face, "Hermione? Earth to Hermione?"

Hermione awoke from her daze and responded appropriately according to Ron, "Oh, yes. Definitely owes us an explanation."

"Really?" Harry asked disbelievingly. "Sounds a bit familiar. Nice to see you as well, mate. Glad you could make it out."

Harry grasped Ron's hand and each of the young men dropped their irate masks. Ron grinned back at his best friend, this was all a machination of the twins and good on Harry if he made the under 21 England team. He had recently been trying to come up with a solution as to how to handle the coming Gryffindor Quidditch season and lineup and this happened to solve his problems quite adequately.

Hermione watched the moving moment of friendship from the sidelines. She was of the thought that what their shared loyalty and inseparable friendship was something that she would never have with either of them. But she was content that they both always seemed to need her and Hermione knew that she would always be there to help them. The moment was captured in her memory; Ron's red hair pointing in every which way making him look more flash than he believed himself to be, and Harry's damp hair clinging to his head and neck with his naked upper torso fueling her conflicting emotions of interest and concern.

"Ron! There you are!" Ginny shouted as she came panting through the door of the locker-room. "Fred says to hurry, uh..."

The youngest member of the Weasley clan and the only daughter was struck dumb at the sight of a slightly damp, and bareback Harry Potter. Her face blushed furiously close to matching her hair and her left hand came up to cover her mouth as a precaution.

Harry, who hadn't a clue about the opposite sex, smiled good-naturedly at her. "'Lo, Ginny."

Ginny's freckles disappeared completely.

"R-Ron," Ginny stammered and dropped the hand covering her mouth. "Fred says that they're waiting at the general audience Floo for you. Mum'll flay them if they left you behind and they have be back in time for the after-match rush and uh, they also need you to do some packing. So..."

Ginny shook her head to try and clear her thoughts. "So come on. We've got to go!"

"Crap," Ron said to himself more than to anyone listening. He turned away from his imposing sister to face Harry. "By the way, great game, mate. You'll fill me in on the details later."

Harry heard an order and not a request. He grinned back at his friend.

Ron departed after giving him a friendly hit on his damaged shoulder. Harry did his best to hide a grimace.

"Yeah, I'll send Hedwig out as soon as I get back."

Ron waved his hand absentmindedly as he walked out of the locker-room without looking back, practically being drug by his baby sister.

As soon as Ron was gone he realized that Hermione had been staring at his back and arms with a strange almost calculating look. "What?"

"You're banged up all over," Hermione said sympathetically. "I never... never knew to such an extent."

"Oh this?" Harry asked, visually checking himself for the first time. "Normal Quidditch bruises, nothing too serious. Usually we're at school so a little magic fixes me right up, but we're not there."

Harry gave a little shrug. He wasn't too preoccupied with the superficial injuries anyway; they'd heal soon enough on their own.

Hermione looked even more puzzled after listening to how insouciant Harry was regarding his health. She looked around the locker-room for a moment before spotting what she needed in the trainer's open office. "Wait here for a moment."

Harry watched Hermione dash off into the trainer's office and return with a small crock of 'Madam Nightingales Soothing Salve'. She removed the lid and imperiously ordered him to take a seat. So, he did and straddled the bench.

Hermione took a seat in front of him. She gathered a healthy amount of the salve on her fingers and gently began to apply the concoction to Harry's cheek. His eyelids dropped and his body began to tingle all over. Her touch was relaxing and he had never had anyone touch him this way before, he felt absolutely wonderful.

Harry didn't see it but Hermione was all smiles. She enjoyed taking care of Ron and Harry; it made her feel wanted and needed to a degree she wasn't able to properly articulate.

"Harry," Hermione whispered and her thoughts began to stretch out towards the young man in front of her.

"Hmm?" he asked, hoping she wasn't going to stop any time soon.

"Where did you get all these," Hermione wondered when she started to move on to his other injuries.

Hermione massaged the salve into the knife wound on his arm and he replied, "Wormtail."

She didn't need to hear the story repeated of Wormtail slicing open his arm to collect blood for Voldemort's resurrection potion.

"And this one?" she inquired when she moved to his other arm.

"Basilisk," Harry answered, he was so euphoric he thought he would tell her the prophecy if she asked.

Her fingers traced a long scar further up that same arm over his bicep and over his shoulder, she correctly guess that it traveled partly down his back as well. He answered without being prompted, "Second Task, the Horntail. Now that was something."

Harry made a guttural moaning sound that brought a tiny smile to her lips.

Hermione clucked at him. He assumed- because he wasn't about to open his eyes and ruin the enchantment- that it was for the happy memory of an event that terrified her. However, Harry's euphoria had spread all over his body and he wasn't aware of just how much appreciation he was showing the world. She got up but didn't break contact and straddled the bench behind him. She took her time with applying the balm to the bruises covering his back and gently coaxed the tension out of him.

As she continued to massage in the healing salve Harry slowly came to realize that his thoughts were becoming clouded and the magic he had only ever felt flow from his wand traversed his consciousness creating the most peculiar sensation when coupled with Hermione's touch. Images of his memories faded only to be seen melding with the emotions of another independent memory. He saw himself walking along a small path that led out of a grove of trees, frightened. He found it strange to watch himself use the summoning charm for the first time and his broom fly into his outstretched hand only seconds later; the vision played to the moment when the dragon caught his arm with the slashing of her dangerous tail. The memory sensation of the pain suddenly freed him from the trance state he had drifted into and he felt the incredible urge to scream, his face felt as though he were using his fingernails to claw off the skin.

He jumped off the bench and away from Hermione. The adrenaline and desperation flowed from him and he forced himself to calm his racing pulse.

"Hermione?" he asked, staring at her incredulously.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyebrows creasing in worry. "Did I press too hard? I thought you might enjoy deep-tissue..."

"Er, nothing," Harry dispelled with his interruption. "It's nothing, really. Thanks, but maybe we should meet back with your dad."

Something had happened, but she wisely knew not to press on until it was just the two of them in a more secure location. She nodded and got up off the bench.

Harry put on a new t-shirt, picked up his England robes and stuffed them into his new official duffle bag. Hermione looked at him uneasily as she followed him out of the locker-room and into the passageway leading back to the stadium. They walked in a tense silence until Hermione decided to divert Harry's attention away from whatever seemed to be bothering him.

"My dad said that he would meet us at the main exit if we were separated. He was caught up talking with another muggle-born parent couple and wanted to compare experiences."

Harry nodded as he pushed open the door to the main lobby and motioned for Hermione to go ahead of him. His head was down, buried in thought. He wondered how he was able to experience the memory again instead of just observing it as a normal person... it was almost as if he was a walking pensieve of his own.

"HARRY POTTER!"

Harry looked up lamely to see who had called him and instantly blinded by the sharp flash of a wizarding camera bulb. Dozens more flashes followed and everyone in the room seemed to be calling his name.

"A FEW WORDS PLEASE!"

"CAN I SCHEDULE AN INTERVIEW!?"

"MARGARET THATCHER FROM _THE DAILY PROPHET_, HOPING TO ASK..."

"ODD LOVEGOOD FROM THE _QUIBBLER_, YOU KNOW MY DAUGHTER, SHE..."

"HARRY POTTER! OVER HERE PLEASE!"

"WE'RE FROM _QUIDDITCH MONTHLY_. WE WANT..."

"One at a time please!" Hermione shrieked, standing in front of him. Her arms were outstretched in a silencing manner. All the voices stopped, obviously stunned at this little girl eyeing them all down with such superiority. Harry's mouth even dropped open in awe, Hermione was in complete control of the situation. She pointed at the two young wizards from _Quidditch Monthly_.

"Thank you," Hermione said the amassed reporters. "You may ask Harry a few questions, but keep them brief and we will not be responding on any matter not related to Quidditch."

Harry wondered what the 'we' reference was about.

The _Quidditch Monthly_ reporter, still a little stunned, cleared his throat, "Ah, yes... ahem. Terry Grey from _Quidditch Monthly, _excellent performance Mr. Potter. What is your opinion of England's game?"

Harry was stumped. He had only ever seen one professional game before and that happened to be the biggest of them all, the Quidditch World Cup Final. He went with the truth from his inexperienced background, "It was a hard match and I believe England was under pressure most of the game, but I'm glad that we were able to regroup in the end."

"The team regrouped? Mr. Potter, it's fairly obvious that it was one man who pulled England's arse out of the flames this afternoon," Terry Grey countered.

"Uhm, yes, well...," Harry stammered. "It was luck, really."

"Luck? LUCK?" Terry Grey scoffed. "That was an extraordinary piece of flying and tenacity you pulled executing that maneuver. We've never seen anything the like. What do you call that maneuver anyway?"


End file.
